Andy Brookes

Gold Star - 25,093 Points (11 May 1954 / Macclesfield)

Short Tales 2 Strange Bedfellows - Poem by Andy Brookes

From my window I see a tree. Its not a very good tree for it is little and stunted and the weather has done its worst. The winter winds have bent it so it appears like a old man struggling up the hill. Each morning it greets me and I salute it. It may not be a sturdy oak or a graceful beech but it is my tree, this hoary old thorn. The tree and I understand each other we both bear the scars of life. Though I have travelled far and seen many things the tree has not, but its roots are deep, its memory long. In the spring it brings me joy with its snowy blossom, taps on my window to let me know Spring is on its way. I let it know my joy as I caress its dark calloused bark. In summer it beckons me to sit beneath its shade and shares my book with me. Like me in Autumn it loses hair and its leaves tumble and swirl in the stiff breezes as it shakes its sleepy head readying its self for Winter sleep. It has watched me grow old and when I'm gone I will share its earth mingling my ashes in the rich dark loam and the tree and I will become one. Will it be lonely? I hope not, I hope the next owner of the house will see its beauty, though old and gnarled, and be its friend.

Topic(s) of this poem: life


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Poem Submitted: Friday, November 27, 2015



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