Bowed down by gales bemoaning,
Twisted, gnarled, older than me,
Leaves pelted cruel by hail & rain,
Bent double, floor sweeping, groaning,
Nobody but me sees “just an old tree”,
But I hear in your ancient sighs, your pain.
As a sapling eons ago, straight, supple & green,
They dug deep & put your roots down, deep down,
Sentencing you to a life not right for you,
In a place where gales & storms were always seen,
Not thinking that you may wither & brown,
I sympathise, my roots were planted by others too.
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