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Its roof well overhung by boughs 
From the old Churchyard trees
Our small cottage rested like a
Penitent on subservient knees 
Windows at least a crack open
The old country lore reason
To let in the fresh air
No matter what the season

Lying in my childhood bed
At the beginning of every day
I would wake to the sound of
The branches creak and sway,
Hear the leaves rustle whisper
Moved by the ever shifting air.
Content for a while just to
Lie drowsily happily there.

A sort of enchanted silence
Except for the tree noise
Frozen in the moment
Appreciating the joys
Of the apparent stillness before
The intrusion of waking sound
As the village woke and stirred 
And there  was noise all around.

There was birdsong of course
But it just blended in, a part
Of each mornings special greeting 
That made up  every day’s start.
There was other  sound of course
As the creatures of the night
Each pursued  their business
Under cold moon and starlight 

Now in old age I am once again
Living close to mature trees
Once again bird and tree-song 
Are carried to me on the breeze
Sometime just for a little while
On some very special days
Then and now trees combine
As the years all wash away.

Again I’m a child of the village
Young healthy body instead
Of this creaky arthritic frame.
Whole of life stretching ahead.
And just for a little while that
Special stillness descends
Until reality slowly returns
And that special feeling ends.

I take my daily walk through
The park’s avenues of trees
Enjoy their rustling chatter
And I feel so much at ease. 
There’s a magic in the air
As I slowly walk the grounds
Encircled and enchanted by
Many living tree sounds.
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