ramblings and things

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in the village where I was born
there was always lots of trees
especially those in the church yard
gently swaying in the breeze
I suppose there must have been storms
when those branches swung and thrashed
and there must have been times
when branches split and smashed
but overhanging our cottage
those giants to my child's eyes
sent me to sleep
with their whispers and sighs.
and woke me in the morning
as they played along
to the chorus
of dawn bird song.
some carry my name
carved with my first knife
all boys had one then
part of country life.

I sheltered from rain under those trees
trunks tightly gripped between my knees
as tightly as I would later hold any lover
as I scrambled as high as I dared to look over
my world the village spread below

Most of those trees like my family
are now dead and gone
those that are left shelter the graves
for us survivors who've moved on.
I rarely go back now
I feel so alone
but I keep my memories
and the village keeps the bones.

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