.4. Counting The Rings Poem by David Threadgold

Rough bark on old trees
Like wrinkles on man
Having lived a long life
In the best way it can

Cut through the bark
And you’ll see a tree bleed
Like the life’s blood of man
Giving all that he need

Old roots take food in
Whilst leaves drink the dew
Refreshing old parts
And growing bits new

But now past its prime
Axe the woodcutter brings
To reveal the trees age
By just counting it’s rings


© 2008 David Threadgold
Rambling Riddles & Rhymes