English countryside,
whispers roam
A solitary tree
calls it home.
Branches reach out,
a simple embrace
Pathways wandered,
time and space.
The tales it could weave
Given half the chance
Of lovers entwined,
in a tender dance.
Or travellers passing,
with burdens to bear,
Finding solace beneath
its branches fair.
From the Canterbury Tales
of Chaucer’s hand,
This mighty tree
belongs to the land.
Across the years
it has stood tall and proud
Long since alone
Not one of a crowd.
Through seasons it stands
Steadfast and true,
Witness to joys
and sorrows too.
In springtime’s bloom
Whispers of Beltane,
Life awakens
bringing colour again.
Summer days linger,
beneath its shade,
hearing the laughter,
memories made,
Autumn arrives,
symphony of gold,
leaves that rustle
stories untold.
Winter’s embrace,
Stark and bare,
Silently watching,
Crisp cold air.
If you chance upon this tree,
Pause by the way,
Listen for the echo
of many a yesterday.