March'17 · Poetry

A new question in the New Forest

The tree stands on its own,

branches high and wide,

with a broad twisted trunk

slightly leaning to the side.


The tree has no friends around,

no such nature of its type,

only a few weeds litter the marshy ground,

for it is far from ripe.


So how did the tree find itself alone?

Did it lift up its roots and run away from home?

Did it tire of a big forest, where everything looked alike,

and fancy a change of scenery, so left swiftly in the night?


Is it happy where it stands,

not hidden from view, but for all to enjoy in this vast stretch of land?

Is it the wind rustling the branch?

Or do I spot a wave!

Either way, it’s a sight I shall surely save.


Goodbye little tree, for my car has driven by,

you’re in the middle of nowhere and I’ll never know why.


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