SHARE Magazine April 2018 | Page 33

A Very
Stout Tree
We paused to worship, beneath a very stout Tree,
Humbled as we gazed up into its green canopy,
Of waving branches, clapping leaves, dancing
praises,
To the rhythm of the warm spring breeze.
“What a magnificent Shrine,” said Barry,
Ran passed it 50 times and missed its beauty,
So busy clocking our distance my pals and me,
Now, transfixed, by our discovery.
If only it spoke our language or we spoke ‘tree’,
We could learn of the things it had happened to
see,
A silent witness, a recorder of history,
Was our very stout tree.
© Angela B. Slack
Over centuries it stood a guardian in sunlight and
mist,
Hidden treasures, escapades, battles, lover’s
trysts,
Rendezvous of covert agents, a lover’s first kiss,
Cognizant of things we being young, had missed.
Reluctantly we departed,
Quiet reverence in our hearts,
Our silent witness looked upon us,
We realised that worship was its true art.
A testimony of seasons weathered,
A catalogue of catastrophes averted,
A troubadour of hope unaltered,
A wooden Tabernacle,
A green Cathedral.
April - June 2018
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