Tree Of Life Poem by gary polonsky

On the eve of certain death,
A young girl pointed to a tree,
And in her penultimate breath,
Averred, O how lucky can I be?
The window really just a crack,
The tree really just a branch,
But whilst a-lying on her back,
Its twinned blossoms fill a ranch.
"I often speak to it", she said.
I wondered: delirious?
After all, death was her bed,
But she was clearly serious.
I pressed her more - gently, of course,
"Of what? " I asked, "About your strife? "
"Oh, no" she said, with no remorse,
"I am here, eternal life".


Written in Ontario, Canada - 27th May 2020