Treesong

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. ,