Deep In The Wood (Poetry)

The tree is old and scarred with messages —
the carvings small reminders of those names
long-gone to churchyards —
memories small flames that burn one hour — flicker
and go out.

Roots run twisted — cross the rutted track
moss and fungi guests that over-stay — take residence
and fallen branches severed by a hurricane’s brute
punishment of years ago rot quietly where they lay
on a damp bed of leaves.

One side the trunk is blackened where a fire
hardly caught but crawled along the bark —
a charcoal finger pointing upwards to the rain
that seeks to cleanse — runs earthwards through the grooves
of knife and nature — like they are the same.

Weathered and abused but strong in spite
of every harsh assault the years can bring
it’s tethered to the soil — resists the seesawing claims
of fire and ice — the stinging lash of storms
the drawn-out agonies of drought.

The tree that will outlast us — live through Springs
that we will miss — fresh snows we’ll never see
and so men carve their names deep in its trunk
as if to still some need — make record of
the fact that he was here one time at least —
his knife insists — the battered tree forgives.