poems of life

Trees

The first of Winter on jewelled ground,
an icy knife cuts through her bows,
static limbs frozen in silence;
nothing stirs as I serve my penance.

Cadaver grey this season's fashion,
the greening soon spring's needy passion,
stretching daylight draws summer near.
Climb an oak ladder, at first with fear.

A hesitant field mouse, an early swallow,
a silent arrival; to life from fallow.
And I too emerge from my lonely cocoon,
afraid of the dazzle, dare I move too soon.

The second of spring, wary, unsure.
I climb the next branch, further no more,
as early evening is midday bright;
could your bark really be worse than your bite?

Dressed in Dutch elm courage, red as a riding hood,
with woodpecker eagerness; I knock on wood.
With willowy weariness, old fears forgotten,
I leap on limbs that may be rotten.

No other climber, no strangling vine, I scream the new Tarzan, this tree is mine.
The warm rain of summer quenches our thirst, in luscious ecstasy, the canopy we burst.

I nurture the young shoots, then prune away the dying, her leaves will shed laughter; her fruits will be smiling.
As I sit in my nature, high up above, will there be room in my treehouse; for others I love.

I plant my two flowers, in a nearby glade, they refuse to flourish in the stranger's shade.
The wilt of their stem, the pale pail of their petals, my garden heart broken, small plants are so special.

The third of Autumn, I hear Winter's call, my seed will be buried; as leaves start to fall.
Remove to the glasshouse, it's warm and it's safe, can't compete with a tree; they need their own space.

My tree became jealous, she needed more light, welcomed a new climber; in the dead of night;
My roses are growing with amazing speed, no space in the forest, they're all that I need.

Surgeon days are over, it's all in the past, dark days are looming; sky's overcast.
Where once was my tree, not even a splinter, cold and alone; I return to my Winter