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Sunday, June 19, 2011

015: The Lilac Trees 1

The Planter he knew what to do
His fingers green the earth did hew
and flowers and plants did from it spew
His Lilac trees grew straight and true
With blossoms white and blossoms blue

Some thirty years or more have passed
The planter gone, his body ash
But, still his memory living on
In lilac trees, big and strong.

Until a voice beyond the wall
A voice with hardly love at all
Said, “Cut them down, they spoil my view
Their petals drop, their roots creep through'
From concrete land, where nothing grew

My Mother, lonely and upset
Went inside and sat and wept
But, to this plea could not agree.
To kill the trees would break her heart
She vowed from them she would not part

Angered, silenced, but not subdued
The neighbour planned her fatal move
Poison poured o'er roots so fine
Would kill those hated trees in time
This wicked and unfeeling act
Carried out behind one’s back

In Spring no blossom did appear
It’s perfumed scent to warm and cheer
The leaves turned brown, the branches drooped
The trees themselves looked old and stooped

With sighs of glee hardly suppressed
The voice from o’er the fence did jest
'Oh dear, what’s happened to your trees
They don't look good, you do agree
Have they submitted to some blight
If so, I'm sorry for your plight

A shame, a shame, for as you know,
I always loved to see them grow.'
Colin Johnston
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