The Tall Tree

Atop a hill,

Beyond the meadows still,

And the lowlands shrill,

Stood tall, The Tall Tree.

Merry under the sun,

Over-laced with divine fun,

On the hill adjoining Mt. Gilligan.

It was immortal,

And knew no mortal,

To share its chortle,

Oh the lovely Tall Tree.

Dancing with the breeze,

To the hill released –

Aroma to love and peace.

But it feared,

As the night neared,

Darkness’ silent ugly leer,

Oh, the poor Tall Tree.

For it was all alone,

None heard it moan,

No saviour, nothing had it outgrown.

Night looked appalling,

All times spent calling,

The tree to sing,

For that’s all it wanted.

But its terrifying grimace,

Frightened all the place,

Its despair unheard – “It’s all but space!”

So the night,

Etched tiny dots bright,

Into itself; shining light,

To comfort poor Tall tree.

He looked with awe,

Smiled as he saw,

But couldn’t stop his caw.

So the night,

At every cycle tried,

To densify the lights,

Hear the Tall Tree sing.

But time was mellow,

The forest burned yellow,

As men ravaged it under King Othello.

The immortal tree,

Was cut down free,

Wood to shape three -

Decoratives as the Queen desired.

The night in fray,

Burst opened Milky Way,

Capsized, turned and strayed far-far away.