Ima Ryma

Mystery Tree

The old dead tree stood on a hill,
An ugliness of jagged rot,
In looming form so dark and still
Against the sun - a lonely blot.
My folks had told me not to play
Around that tree; and so of course
I headed for it right away,
Drawn by its mysterious force.
There was an urge I would not stop.
Responding to the luring spell,
I climbed up to the very top.
But, then I slipped and down I fell.

A limb reached out and grabbed me round,
Setting me safely on the ground.

Poem Submitted: Thursday, October 18, 2007
Poem Edited: Friday, October 28, 2011

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Comments about Mystery Tree by Ima Ryma

  • Mark Tapley (10/18/2007 6:03:00 AM)

    The Giving tree in disguise?

    Beautiful imagery, very graphically evocative poem.
    Also, it is allusive, lets the reader wonder about what, why, who...

    Hats off.

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