Whispering Trees

There’s no time for poverty When there’s magic in the air So long as there’s food There’s no need to care, And a watertight roof Over a persons head And the music of trees as He lies there in bed. A soft sweet lullaby that Continues through the night Then accompanies the birds As they greet day’s first light. The magic majesty of trees Dominating the scene Unspeaking witness to Many things that have been. Their leaves flutter and whisper Branches sway and creak As if talking to themselves Passing the news of the week. In my little Yorkshire village There was magic in the air And I was so lucky to have Spent youth and childhood there. Knowledge comes with age So eventually a person knows With no longer a future there He packs his bags and goes. The bad things forgotten His memory erasing the past Ensuring that only selected And treasured ones last. I no longer know my village It has quietly set me free. But there’s that special gift My village life gave to me To this very day I can still Be totally at my ease Sitting anywhere on my own Under magic whispering trees.