016: The Lilac Trees 2 Poem by Colin Johnston

My Father 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 forty years or more had passed
The planter gone, his body ash
But, with 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.
Angry, 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 Mum’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 wall 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
To see their flowers in White and Blue
And smell their Pungent sweet perfume.”

From concrete land where nothing blooms.