Tree.

Another poem. I'm going to get my butt in a bind for hogging this Topic.

On Land
Behind the Place
I dwell, there stands
A Chestnut Tree
Its old and knarled
And ugly, not
A handsome sight
To see.
But something in
That old scarred tee
With Chestnuts hanging down
Makes me and others
Wonder, How long
Its been around.
Is it one hundred years
Or two, or maybe three
And if it is I have
To think the sights
It might have seen.
Did Huron or the Iroquois
Shelter 'neath its limbs
Did Mississauga Children
Play in its fallen leaves.
Was it here when
Chisholm came to cut
The Great Oaks down
Or was it newly planted
When Bronte became a Town.
Did an Empire Loyalist
Plant you to mark
His piece of ground
And if he did for
Nine Score years that
Tree has been around.

What a beautiful poem dedicated to our trees which since I was a little girl thought to be the fingers of the Creator.

Solid,magestics but yet vulnerable.It takes years and years to grow but at the hands of man down in seconds.

Thanks my friend,

LOA

Good story telling...as usual.
Symmetry…I think it should be spelled with two e’s, (as in tree).
Thanks, JC