Our Tree

This is our tree, a tree that stands

Isolated on barren acres, surrounded

By wild growing Thistles and clusters

Of beautiful green shamrocks.

Distant hills could be the Campsie Fells

A view that we have grown with

As we stood by our tree and climbed

To the very tip to touch the sky and clouds.

Our tree was once as wide as it was tall

Blooming and growing each solstice and equinox,

A hideaway and nesting environment

For small and large migrating birds.

Branches and limbs stretched far and wide

With leaves the colour of an emerald gem.

When the sun produced a smile upon our tree

We could hear an avian chorus sing.

But, over these long, lonely, solitude years,

With the battering of storms and bitter rain,

Branches and limbs, that we once loved so dear,

Have slowly been wrenched from the tree in pain.

Leaves fade in colour, like burnt paper

And are carried away by the mouth of Borrum.

For our tree, over the years, has receded in stature,

Looking smaller as our lives grow older.

We will leave it to our children and their children

And their children to be saplings around our tree,

To breathe life onto the barren acre, to enhance the life,

For our tree to live for an aged eternity.