I yawn as once again comes the balmy springtime dawn, I stretch out my old limbs towards an amber and blue sky, some of my twigs are brittle and dry, they around me in a heap do lie. I can’t remember how old am I but I do remember many battles fought where around me many men did die, their musket balls bounced off my hard bark but not of that which is soft.
Many lovers have gathered around my huge trunk, I laughed at their glee of the serenity they enjoyed under the shade of this old tree. I was sad when the young lass from Yorkshire did mourn, her handsome spunky young man hastily volunteered to go to War and after many months she did forlorn as she dreaded that she would not see him anymore. I remember that day when he suddenly appeared, he said; I knew you would be here, as a prisoner I suffered for many a year but I never lost hope, and now is the time to elope.
Now in my quiet time it’s just the birds and me, I am enjoying the soft rain blowing through my hair but sometimes it burns which cause me much despair. I am terrified of Lightning that can break my arms and cause the fierce fires that devour my friends the bushes, shrubs and even the poor little bugs. I am so happy that some nice people have planted many trees after the fire, many cousins green is my desire, I hope that I’m never cut down just to make some old goat a boat.
An intersting compelling tale from the perspective of an old oak tree. Complete with his worries and concerns way back when wars were fought with muskets. The story of long gone lovers and almost lost love to return back in full circle to the present where his concerns are if being chopped down. I love that your poems are always packed with details and the more times I read them the more I see I also love the quirky humour that always manages to sneak in. I hope that old goat goes elsewhere for the wood for his boat :) Milly x