In   the   yard   there   is   a   tree
It's   been   there   quite   a   while
I   look   at   it   today
With   a   quiet,   wistful   smile.

From   years   long   gone   a   vision
Of   a   child   looking   around
I   see   –   as   he   surveyed
Brown,   beaten,   barren   ground.

He   knew   without   quite   knowing
That   something   was   not   right
They'd   said   the   earth   should   hold
Full   blooms   and   flowers   bright.

Despondent,   he   saw   no   blade
Of   grass   –   no   copse,   no   bush.
Not   just   a   leaf   to   wipe
The   sudden   tearful   rush.

With   grubby   hand   he   rubbed
Tired   eyes   that   woeful   weep
And   turned   from   whence   he   came
To   the   silent   house   to   sleep.

But   first   upon   the   table
He   saw   what   had   been   left
As   mothers   are   wont   to   do
A   mango   for   him   was   kept.

With   practised   ease   he   clambered
Onto   to   the   nearest   chair
And   the   pensive   fruit   he   ******
Leaving   stains   on   face   and   hair.

Then   something   he'd   heard
Came   to   mind   with   startling   light
He   look'd   through   the   window
His   eyes   were   shining   bright.

He   toddled   back   outside
And   saw   the   distant   wall
His   gaze   fixed   upon   it
Threw   the   kernel   like   a   ball.

Then   came   in   back   to   sleep
From   the   yard   with   barren   earth
And   when   he   woke   he   heard
The   sounds   of   talk   and   mirth.

And   as   is   a   child's   way
He   forgot   what   he   had   cast,
In   the   pleasures   of   today
Past   deeds   are   often   past.

The   seasons   came   and   went
The   child   to   manhood   grown
He'd   left   his   parent's   house
For   a   place   he   called   his   own.

With   the   passing   of   the   years
Memory   too   lost   its   recall
Though   on   chance   he   told   the   tale
Of   the   kernel   by   the   wall

One   day   'cross   oceans   distant
A   man   came   back   to   claim
The   child   of   the   child   returned
To   the   house   that   bore   his   name

And   in   the   yard   he   saw
No   patch   of   empty   ground
But   a   giant   mango   tree
Fruit   flies   flitting   around.

And   in   its   shade   he   stood
Amidst   flowers   of   different   hue
And   tried   in   vain   to   see
The   wall   his   father   knew.

In   the   lush   green   of   the   yard
The   distant   wall   was   hidden
And   with   no   conscious   thought
Came   a   sight   quite   unbidden..

On   the   spot   where   he   stood
He   saw   again   that   child
And   reverent   bent   to   taste
Fruit   lying   in   splendour   wild.

The   grey   upon   his   shoulders
Gnarled   bark   of   the   tree
The   wisdom   of   the   years
Was   there   for   him   to   see.

He   knew   it   was   the   land
And   the   rain   in   season   due
That   gave   the   tree   and   yard
Its   colours   and   its   hue.

But   all   that   he   could   sense
Was   a   child   trying   to   see
Bright   flowers   and   green   grass
Where   they'd   said   they   should   be.

Like   him   perhaps   there'll   be
A   woeful   child   who'll   stand
And   plant   another   tree
With   the   kernel   in   his   hand.

From   simple   deeds   are   born
Life's   flavours   and   its   treats
From   little   children's   longings
Barren   nature   too   retreats

When   he,   his   child,   and   children
Are   gone,   the   tree   will   stand
A   symbol   of   the   miracle
Wrought   by   a   child's   hand.