jack tree


I return home:


To my friend the jack tree, who like me is now seasoned,

With several long years of warmth, of heat ,oft wet and cold,

Torrents of trickles  running down to a land  seemingly so parched,

Happily in service as shocks are so effortlessly  absorbed,

Wind and storm in awe we separated and  withstood,

Tired sit out for those seeking some weary shade,

Some traveller so burdened by life’s incertitude,

Immeasurable girth of timber to be  serially logged,

Its fruits now so valueless, deceptively porcupined,

So multiple clogged, thinly but firmly ratcheted

The more we endure, the more mature and so well needed,

Assure  to my insecure self that we shall be  ripened and sawed,

So that the future is always built on the past that passes by unnoticed.

Except that irreverent  sound of a fall;  the irrelevant thud which can be avoided.




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