The Tree

She drops by my window again, this morning,
Her constant bough heavy with my daily fruit
And her viral roots, deep entrenched
In every nook of my blessed bower.

Her giant parasol spares me, the roving
Attentions of rain and shine. My evening’s rest,
Eternally indebted, to the billowing breeze on which
She ushers me, towards night’s dreamy embrace.

“Ah, my dear, did you see where I went tonight?
A little sapling, under your kindly shade,
Curled around my curious finger and Lo!
Burst into bloom, leapt towards the sky!

She swung me high into the heavens and showed me
The brightness that lay beyond your dreary domain.
How your jealous leaves had denied me
The burning wetness of clouds torched by lightning!

And then, in that headlong vault of passion,
In the mad luminance of the midnight sun, I saw:
That the scheming creeper to which I clung,
Was squeezing the life out of your trusting trunk.

That soon, my deranged dance would fell your head -
Your burdened canopy, my tottering stage -
And we’d both head crashing to our deaths -
You and I, my dear, on our beloved bower.”