The Tree - Story Poem
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He was the first of many of his kind,
grown long before his siblings came to be
And from the start it was his job to mind
all tiny things that weren't as strong as he
When furry squirrels raced up and down his bark
in search of someplace fitting for a nest,
he left them leaves to warm them in the dark
and kept them safe when they lay down to rest
He was alone but for the fox or dove
that sometimes found the clearing where he stood
Yet over time, the tree had come to love
his solitary life deep in the wood
And there, three hundred years serene and still,
green in the spring and golden in the fall,
with leafy branches keeping out the chill,
his roots spread out below and he grew tall
Then came a man and woman to his dell
They built a house of stone down in the snow
and soon a baby shared their home, as well
A child the Tree, in time, would come to know
The years passed by and he watched on as Pearl
(for that is what they called the precious child)
grew from a babe into a little girl,
who sat with him in spring, when days were mild
One day, Pearl brought the Tree what looked like seeds
wrapped in a scrap of cloth from Papa's shirt,
then sat down at his base amidst the weeds
and tapped them gently down into the dirt
For three long days, the Tree was tossed by rain
but soon the sun returned to dry his roots
and in the light that warmed the washed terrain,
to his delight, he could see tiny shoots
And with the kind old Tree and mindful Pearl
to tend their needs and shower them with care,
soon tender leaves would carefully unfurl,
revealing bright red blossoms, here and there
It wasn't long before the flowers spread
out on their own, as roaming plants will do,
not slowing until all was sown in red,
and Pearl had grown into a woman, too
The Tree looked after Pearl for eighty years
He watched her growing old, as time progressed
Then one cold day, four solemn mountaineers
came up the hill to lay his Pearl to rest
Where she had been, the Tree now felt a hole
and yet, he knew in time the pain would end
But met with grief that night, atop his knoll,
he let leaf after leaf fall for his friend
All through the winter months, the Tree would rest
and when he woke in spring and raised his head,
he saw with wonder booming in his chest
a single yellow bloom amidst the red
Now centuries have passed and Pearl is still
there with him on the hill, just as before,
a quilt of yellow keeping out the chill,
at rest beneath her ancient sycamore
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January 11, 2023
Copyright ©
Lycia Harding
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