I haven't been sampling the Poetry Jam for a while through holidays and an unforeseen and un-get-out-of-able bout of painting and decorating but this week I see the incredibly talented Chris of Enchanted Oak fame is stirring the mixture, so I'll throw this tearful eulogy about an enchanted tree of my own in for good measure. For more substantial poetical ingredients, follow the linky yoke here
I miss that old tree at the end of the street,
which afforded us shade in the dull summer heat,
that flung its leaves gaily when autumn did blow
and shivered when branches were laden with snow.
I miss that old tree, where we once carved our names
and hid from each other in long, childhood games.
And sat in the branches and secretly smoked,
the wisps of tobacco so cleverly cloaked.
I miss that old tree, where I’d meet my first love
as sparrows and chaffinches twittered above,
where night time goodbyes lasted almost till dawn
and sexual awakening was clumsily born.
‘Twas a terrible storm on the night it came down,
the lightning forked wildly o’er this part of town.
The crash was heard widely, we all rushed outside
to witness the moment that tree of ours died.
Beneath its great trunk, my poor, flattened wife lay,
crushed at the wheel of her Honda Coupé.
Oh yes, ‘twas a terrible moment for me
and still, two years later, I miss that old tree.