A Tree Grows In Avignon - Poem by Steven Cooke
Planted by a Soldiers hand,
She slept, while Europe blazed.
Bore silence through winters cull,
Captured in darkness, there to laze
Amongst the ruins of Avignon
Freed by the spring,
Guarded by the sun
Born in thunders drench
A seedling of hope for Avignon
Gave witness to unjust death,
Found her strength in summer’s breath.
Drank the blood of murders shame,
Grew fertile, her innocence to bear
Seduced by the bees of Avignon
Gave birth, to temptation
Casting forth her gift,
Amongst the ruin,
While Children played, in her boughs.
A new beginning, the bad forgotten
Healing the scars of Avignon
Taken confession, the old to cleanse,
Listened to love,
Their dreams to mend
Sheltered the lost, from Natures eye
Watched children grow,
And the old men die,
For she is the spirit of Avignon
Planted by a soldiers hand,
When dark clouds gathered
A place of love, redemption tethered
To forget the war
And find his wife
A tree of Life for Avignon
Time moves on.
The soul returns,
And still she grows.
Anonymous to a stranger’s eye,
A cathedral of hope, a grannies smile
A tree of home
A tree that set us free,
That tree that saved my Avignon.
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