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THE TWISTED TREE
I saw it first in winter bereft of all it’s foliage,
It looked ancient, all deformed, twisted with age,
The main trunk was bent almost double with pain,
No longer any decent height could this tree attain.

The branches bent and crooked shooting every way,
Yet it was a living thing and had a right to stay
And grow and flourish, do the best it could,
But it could never be a lovely piece of wood.

I saw it in the spring, new leaf growth everywhere,
And in the tortured branches birds of the air
Found many a nesting places safe as can be,
For few predators could take on the tangled tree.

All summer it sheltered many a small beast,
Stopped the hungry predator having a feast,
It saved them from hot sun and the driving rain,
That twisted tree was of use that was very plain.

I saw it in the fall, it was as red as the dying sun,
A mass of brilliant colours my heart it had won,
I wondered how many trees were its offspring grown tall,
That old twisted tree became my favourite of them all.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson June 5, 2004