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From Breezes tto Brawny Blow
By Donna Flood
1 June 2008 · General
There's a Pine tree at the edge of my place.
It's mine I know because I measured the space
For a spindly, sprig of a thing
And with rock around made a ring
So lawn mower would not run over
Where it was less tall than the clover.
Now the dear loyal trunck reaches a height
For even the bravest birds in their flight.
Today the winds of these storms are in it
While the uppermost branches are hit
Bending and turning it does sway,
Hopefully, to make it through this day.
What a job, and the work, my old friend,
You do for me, and to you my knee does bend.,
The blasts from the raging, angry sky
And again seasoned as to Poplar they fly.
Their more fragile branches are caught,
But protected from the worst of the onslaught.
And then on down to me,
With but gentle breeze I see.
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From the Electric Scotland Article Service (2008–2011). Restored from archived copies of the original pages.
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