I remember the day we planted our tree.
A delicate seedling, to be moulded,
in our erotic uncertain hands.
There was so much effort then.
Water, fertiliser, love and sun;
whatever it craved or desired
was thrust upon it without qualm.
Slowly it matured before our eyes,
growing with every kiss,
maturing with every promise.
It grew so tall, alomost shaking hands
with the light-giving sun.
Each precious green leaf a sentiment,
each crooked branch a delightful memory.
But light became shadow,
love became an evanescent rainbow
with no rain to quench the thirsty
wants of our tree.
Our relinquished, tired hands
surrendered our spades and buckets of water,
as hope faded through our fingers
like the fertilised soil that nourished our tree.
Rapidly it perished before our eyes,
the brown leaves falling one by one,
the weak branches reduced to dust.
I mourned at the grave
of our decomposing tree.
It had such potential to flourish,
and touch the sun to ringing bells. |
Submission Name: Our Tree
