The tree smiled, she could feel the arrogance of the fresh air!
Their youth bringing out the energy within, bare,
Whispers around, of how old and how she was dark!
Not knowing these newbies, that this is just her outside bark,
Inside so beautiful and serene, like the Australian bush lark.
The wise owl on the branch patted and rubbed his neck,
Remembering how he and she survived the wreck.
That night was long and so wet,
As if the bones are all just set,
Alone, left behind in his cozy nest,
A speck of life to describe at best,
The fangs of horror he had not met,
Knowing well that he is lost if she let.
Her face as calm as it is today,
As usual what was there to say,
He knew then that she would keep him at bay,
Coiled amongst the branch, he lay.
Ready to spring and have a go,
Not for nothing his pride in the show,
As of now breathing and panting low,
The coming spring to be peacefully slow.
She called her old friend, the mighty wind,
The big, the strong, the large heart, the disciplined.
It was not the fruits which he loved, nor the leaves he brushed,
Under the weight of her goodness and kindness he was crushed.
How could he not answer to the owl tree?
In her, his mother and her mother he could see!
He did tell her it would mean losing a limb,
To which she melodied her favorite hymn..
“What did the mother tell her son,
When death around, forced him to ask –
Mother why don’t we run?
We are of soil and soil is us,
Where to go and why the rush?
If love we do what we stand upon,
Might we discover nothing is beyond!”
Singing thus she rocked the head,
Into the soil her favorite branch fed.
In it lay the snake so ready to pounce,
The joy of pound, now an ounce.
Wondered he, how can a mother sacrifice?
Small brain not understanding life!
The owl cried, while the leaves had him in their cradle,
Of God he understood that day – one who is able.
In the moon – he had found his light!
