Meditation of My Heart
A Fallen Tree
Outside our yard, an old elm tree grew.
Fallen it did when the winds blew.
Once so grand with branches outspread,
With leaves aplenty it surely had.
A child I was, when this tree did grow,
The tales it would tell, if words could flow.
Old and gnarled when we were introduced,
The branches bared of leaves it did lose.
A owl on its branches, sat by night,
Proclaiming its existence with all its might.
But no more it can sit.
And miss them I do, every bit.
Of two, my memory does give,
In the treasured hall they will live.
For tree and owl I do morn.
That empty space, once alive, it does scorn.
Copyright ©2004 Leona M. Mars
Published 2004 in The International WHO'S WHO IN POETRY
There once was an old elm tree outside our yard. Despite the gnarled branches, it still had character. All the leaves had fallen off the branches and it was ugly, but still, I liked the tree. An owl use to sat on its branches during the midnight hours. It would hoot and hoot, much to my annoyance. One night, a strong wind toppled the tree. Needless to say, the owl has moved on, to a better tree I suppose. I miss that old tree and the annoying owl. Every time I look at that empty space, it saddens me. I get a melancholy feeling, as if two old friends have passed. This poem is a tribute to that old tree and the bothersome owl.
Fallen it did when the winds blew.
Once so grand with branches outspread,
With leaves aplenty it surely had.
A child I was, when this tree did grow,
The tales it would tell, if words could flow.
Old and gnarled when we were introduced,
The branches bared of leaves it did lose.
A owl on its branches, sat by night,
Proclaiming its existence with all its might.
But no more it can sit.
And miss them I do, every bit.
Of two, my memory does give,
In the treasured hall they will live.
For tree and owl I do morn.
That empty space, once alive, it does scorn.
Copyright ©2004 Leona M. Mars
Published 2004 in The International WHO'S WHO IN POETRY
There once was an old elm tree outside our yard. Despite the gnarled branches, it still had character. All the leaves had fallen off the branches and it was ugly, but still, I liked the tree. An owl use to sat on its branches during the midnight hours. It would hoot and hoot, much to my annoyance. One night, a strong wind toppled the tree. Needless to say, the owl has moved on, to a better tree I suppose. I miss that old tree and the annoying owl. Every time I look at that empty space, it saddens me. I get a melancholy feeling, as if two old friends have passed. This poem is a tribute to that old tree and the bothersome owl.
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A Fallen Tree
A Fallen Tree
