TREE - a poem for Friday Fictioneers

TREE

A tree is always there –

immovable,

a living solid friend –

backrest to the solitary reader,

a shelter from sudden rain,

the hollows of its roots

a bed for summer lovers –

perhaps a hundred years

of memories.

You don’t expect

to wake one morning

and find its height

reduced to length,

the secret places

in its roots

indecently exposed,

and the unreachable boughs

sad and defeated

under your caressing hand.

When a tree falls

your whole world rocks

and the child in you

trembles.

It’s like coming downstairs

in the dark night

seeking comfort,

and hearing your father cry.

.......................................................................

On seeing Sandra Crook's photograph of a weeping tree, I immediately thought of this poem which I wrote thirty years ago in 1987, the year a hurricane tore down far too many beautiful trees across the south of England. As we have just had another big storm, it seems appropriate to post it here. And it has the requisite number of words!

You can see other 100 word stories via https://rochellewisoff.com/