I’m heading to a special wood.
A magic place to be.
Where whispers can be heard,
from swaying branch of every tree.
There’s Oak and Willow,
Ash and Cherry too.
Each has a tale to tell
and they’re whispering it to you.
I’m going to a special tree.
It’s been here just one thousand days.
At its trunk I sit to listen
to the branches in the breeze.
I pass to it my confidences
and tell it tales anew.
In the hope you hear me
through prayers I send to you.
They don’t just talk, you know.
They take the time to listen too.
If you’ve got a tale to tell,
the tree will pass it on for you.
So, find yourself a special tree
and tell to it your tale.
With a rustle in its leaves,
your story, upon the breeze, will sail.
Each tree, like a guardian,
stands tall and stout.
Giving succour to the ground
and all the flora ‘round about.
Their branches reaching to the sky.
Their roots the soil beneath.
A bridge ‘tween heaven and earth.
Giving faith to my belief.
I gaze upon this special tree.
Think back a thousand days.
‘Tis here you’re laid to rest.
The place I come to pray.
This tree brings hope, that much is true,
and like a conduit,
through it, ‘tis my way,
to commune with you.
a thousand days since my Wife was buried in a woodland cemetary
