If a poem could never be, as rare and lovely as a tree,
(A poet once said eloquently)
Then ancient friend I say to thee, a mere poem you shall never be!
Nestled on a hill I see, your steady shadow stands alee
Shore-side of that fabled Zee, want for naught and burden-free
Tell me silent witness prithee! How many of these did you see:
Who has offered alms to thee?
How many young men on bent knee?
Or lovers rapt there lustily?
Or widows’ tears and binds set free?
The din of how many children’s glee,
and songs of bird and man and bee,
have through the ages come to be,
the soundtrack of your memory?
How many souls beneath your ample boughs have tarried?
How many downy chicks have your branches carried?
How many hapless creatures have sought you seeking shelter,
‘gainst withering winter gales, or unrelenting sunny swelter?
White and verdant, standing true,
So many souls have come to you
To beseech you solace, to reflect a while,
To shed a tear, or share a smile,
Or ponder nature’s mysteries –
(how intertwined our histories!)
I am but one of many wanderers,
dreamers, spirits, poets, and ponderers,
Who through the ages pass your way
With springy steps by night and day
Alas, and finally, I say to thee
Thank you for your company