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Sunday, 6 September 2015

MEMORY OF (THE TREE) BY FIONA CUMMINGS

 Looking back at a poem I wrote a year ago. I have many thoughts on this. And what pictures it could paint.


The Tree


 


By Fiona Cummings


 


 


 


 The tree that grows


 


Hugged by the rose


 


Tells a story from yesteryear


 


Bear in winter


 


Bits of bark splinter


 


But bloom in spring


 


From routes deep within


 


Under the ground


 


Stretching out all around


 


Bowing down


 


To tell a tail


 


Survived snow, wind and hail


 


Wearing its medals of flowers so pale


 


Circled by nettles and a lonely daffodil


 


If only we could sit down and get some answers


 


Learning all about our ancestors


 


How many people have sheltered under hear


 


Looking out to the overflowing weir


 


The steep muddy banks


 


And fast new road behind


 


I would like to give thanks


 


To all nature we find 


 


You ask nothing from us


 


You don’t cause a fuss


 


Just hope for seasons to be kind


 


And not to be replaced by concrete


 


You make life complete


 


Beautiful tree


 


You provide beauty for me


 


You keep your secrets to yourself


 


Put away on your oak shelf


 


Well, I won’t ask you to whisper


 


The secrets you know


 


And why on your trunk you have a blister


 


Who did that to you


 


I will never know


 


Just please grow


 


Tall to the sky so blue


 


Forever I will respect you


 


Copyright Fiona Cummings 2015


 


 


Posted by Fiona Cummings

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