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Poem

Slow, slow
Stop, stop
Here, here
The tree
She hobbled between 
The Tussock grass
Toward the tree’s
The biggest, tallest
She made for
She stopped half way
To look
Look up
At this tree
Tall and brown
Thick with Bowe
The oldest of these tree’s
She hobbled on to this tree
Dropping her cane
At its base
Placing her hands on this tree
In communion
Connection
To that
One cannot see
This tree
The old lady
She made her way round its base
Keeping one hand on the tree
Moving off to look around
To what was on the ground
No one knows how old she is
This tree older still
Creases of time
Play out on both faces of this
Old lady
The tree
She came into this world
Under this tree
At a time
No one remembers
But she remembers
The time and this tree
Personal Dreaming and this tree
Upon a regular time
She’d visit this tree
But now
Not so much
As no one has time for this
Old lady
And her tree

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