This tree

is old

 

It knows its time but has grown in the ancient hedge

escaping the billhook and the thresher blade

standing 'gainst the farmer's pledge

that every stem should be neatly laid

 

This tree

is wise

 

It is as large as it needs to be and no more

its spread has grown to contain all of its leaves

and each year it grows to store

just as many leaves as it receives

 

This tree

is sound

 

This great old tree smells just as any beech tree should

and the grey bark feels smooth on the trunk to me

my judging hand leaves its wood                                             

untroubled by my discourtesy

 

This tree

robs my garden

of summer sun