The Tree

Here is a poem I wrote forty years ago. It simply my poetic view at that time of a tree, its life and the life it sustains.

 

The Tree

A poem by Arthur Thomas Ware

Written 15/9/74

 

 

 

           Soil is turned, seed is sown

           Now life is on the way,

           As the tiny germ as yet  ungrown,

           Shoots spear to light of day

 

           Womb of earth the sun’s rays warm,

           Gentle spring rains fall,

           Singing wind and flashing storm,

           Welcomes  the tree so small.

 

           Now sun flares from gleaming skies

           Little leaves turn brown;

           Ra sears the grass until it dies,

           Scorching the sappling’s crown.

 

           Sun’s rays lengthen, cool wind blows,

           Golden leaves drift by,

           And still our young tree grows and grows,

           Stretching towards the sky.

 

           The ground grows cold and fallow,

           White lace lies on the earth,

           And in its bed so shallow,

           Our tree stands still as death.

 

                                                A breeze, some rain, a ray of light,

           Spring is here once more;

           Nature’s promise to delight

           With things She has in store.

 

           With budding branches, fresh green leaves

           Our tree breaths life again,

           And sucks hungrily the breast of earth

           For the warm, thirst-quenching rain.

 

 

 

 

           The danger’s  gone now, forever past,

           Our tree is stout and strong;

           A species that will last and last,

           Endure for ever so long.

 

           And it will shelter its babies

           As they are nutured by the earth,

           Shelter them as it was sheltered

           By its own mother at its birth.