Poem For Mother - Poem by Katharine Byrd
There once was a cluster of trees,
in a small wood I once knew.
I passed them by, day after day,
Glittering brightly with morning dew.
These were, in fact, very special trees.
Was it their peculliar hue?
Was it how they bent in the breeze?
A reason was certainly due.
Some were tall, some were thick,
some gnarled in places hard to see.
Some had leaves that fell in the fall,
Others grew blooms to tempt a honey bee.
One in particular was as tall as it was wide,
It was thick and had strong branches,
Where wildlife could safely hide.
Its leaves were broad, the trunk was sturdy,
In the wind his arms did glide.
He was The Protector, a brandish Oak,
but not quite as lovely without his bride.
She stood not as tall, nor just as sturdy,
As her grand Oak groom stood.
But her trunk was quite impressive,
And the fruit that she bore was good.
Spring held her time to blossom,
Great white blooms she carried with care.
In summer The Provider shed her red bounty,
To those who plucked them from her hair.
And yet still there was the Maple,
Who radiated Japanese flare.
His body low, his leaves many,
They hid of what he was able.
Rich purples, deep reds painted his leaves and branches,
When wind came, they gave way to song.
As Inspiration bent in the night,
Holding fast within his throng.
Then there was the Fir, a most spectacular sight.
He shed his bark, and fighting nature in fury,
As he broke, did give many mammal a fright.
Yet his brilliance was oft o'erlooked.
As it is not easy to believe.
His body he gave for many,
With bark, root, branch and leaf.
'Why is it, ' I asked, 'they're important to me?
What is SO special about those trees? '
I would never know,
I simply couldn't perceive,
How incredibly special each tree was to me.
Until that is, (now here is the clue)
Those trees began to disappear,
In silent pairs of two.
Two and two, and two more they went.
Never to return, their lives here spent.
At first the loss of them I did not see,
Until one day I thought,
'Is there not less one tree? '
Panic overcame me, fear was abound.
I had lost all my trees,
When I was nary around.
Everyday I stop, and everyday I look,
Where once stood a forrest,
Now stands not even a brook.
I weep, how I weep,
Salten tears more bitter than the seas.
As I no longer have,
My beautiful, imperfect trees.
But wait! Look very hard! Could it be true? !
A holly bush stands thriving,
Though her branches be greyish-blue.
She stands alone, her berries are luring,
Her leaves bear quite a sting.
She stands in sorrow, her fruits are but poison,
All flights of fancy take wing.
Be strong, little Holly, don't be so taunting,
Reaching for sunlight by day.
As Faith's promise by night is haunting,
You'll yearn for the others in a most urgent way.
Be resilient little holly, you MUST be you see.
Make each day last.
For life is but one brief, sweet moment,
And one day soon your grief will have passed.
© K. Byrd 2000
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