I started recording my poems. It helps me focus on form and rhythm This poem was written after a storm felled lots of trees, in particular a three hundred year old tree in the centre of town.
Death of a Tree
Today I spotted a tree torn down by the wind
I took out a flask of tea and sat, watching the wind gnaw at it.
It tore the bark, peeled back layers soft as orange peel.
A squirrel scuttled round my feet,
froze and looked at me with sad green eyes.
"I am alone," it said. "The big old oak has died."
I looked up at the sky as a gentle rain began to fall,
gathering myself up, silent I walked home.
Death of a Tree
Today I spotted a tree torn down by the wind
I took out a flask of tea and sat, watching the wind gnaw at it.
It tore the bark, peeled back layers soft as orange peel.
A squirrel scuttled round my feet,
froze and looked at me with sad green eyes.
"I am alone," it said. "The big old oak has died."
I looked up at the sky as a gentle rain began to fall,
gathering myself up, silent I walked home.
