Three hundred and twenty years in the making.
Lovers have met
Battles been fought, won and lost
And the afternoon heat
...
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Countless hands, feet and tired posteriors have left their mark. And it has left a mark in my heart, here. The old tree trunk in the park. - - - - - -> awesome poem, awesome, lead-up to the ending which explained what was going on and left the reader happy and amused by the journey to that ending! ! !
Back to this brilliant poem, can't help it, need to thank you again for sharing it! Its beauty stays in the words between the lines, only the masters of a pen with ink from the river of heart can write such staff. Thank you for share!
Beautiful, the history of the tree. How many tales lie beaneath. Great work
There's nothing like an old tree trunk in a park to spark off emotions and this poem has them all.....a battle of them................ Ruth
Beautiful homage to the resilient tree! The imagry used for the build up is brilliant!
Wow wow wow....this is gud. I will neva hv guessed d ending. I hv a poet like this...Only a mirage do will like it....thanks for sharing..+
The stories some trees like this could tell; but only the 'grass' whispers. Your secrets are safe with a tree. Why are they called trees? Even when there is only one of them. Micmac
Wonderful poem, I too have such a friend Martin. Mine though is a magnificent specimen of live oak that I planted myself many years ago. It now covers two lots. I think this poem is is very well written.
Yes, trees are true pillars of a community and I feel them as much more: unconditional love and peace messengers. Thank you for this wonderful write, loved it.
And to think some people..see only a tree. But never us poets, eh? Wonderful job of unveiling some history one might not suspect was present merely in the location of some tree. Also, history has a way of choosing its own places and times.
Would have preferred the last line, first - though I know you aim to 'reveal' stuff at the end. To buck your own trend once in a while might be more of a surprise, though, maybe?
We realize What a perfect title that is when we reach the end of the poem.