The Banyan Tree

The Banyan Tree I the Atlas carry a home My master strong for his Children seven had built. Shorts and skirts Thunder up my shoulders, All hell let lose, With their galloping horse-hooves, Ride up the stairs full a twenty. Doomsday be here While they make a merry! Platoons of ghosts, Burst through the door, Somersaults quaking me, to and fro. My arms aching in holding the floor, Left and right till muscles do tear. Roaring laughter through Quaking windows four, Trap door opens and shuts, Opens and shuts. Down they slide from My shoulder to root, Clinging and scraping My shins a many. One by one upto the stairs And down to the root. Witchcraft and magic Can save me not With wizards seven! The lord I thank thee for the Night so starry and breeze so cool!, Nightly rest to heal my sores, A generation over, Another I do endure. History changes not With more furore! Stout and and strong, With roots many more, I, the Banyan, will shade many more! Balveen Cheema September 9, 2015 Competition: Personification