Anew: To the Tolkien Tree

Remember how he came and how he went, Born far away the flakes of your soft bark, A quartered apple in the muse’s hand, The evergreen fond memory, our spark. Up, up, up Into the errant autumn winds. Leaves stutter in the gust – a maudlin dance, The whisper of time’s awl. Up, up Rend your unsightly pining skin, Become a lute, a cup, a battle lance. There is no infamy in such a fall. Up The wheel has turned where grief and branches lay. Remember how he passed and how he stayed - Small things through which the darkness’s kept at bay.