As I sit under this gnarled old tree so treasured,
I wonder how many years so far it has measured.
Has it grown to this size just in time for me?
Or did my ancestors once sit here under this tree?
I watch as a bird, lands on its limb,
Singing a song that sounds like a hymn.
I feel the gentle breeze, I breathe in the fresh air,
and wonder if trees in heaven will be quite as fair.
Glenn Bergen
13 comments:
Very gnarled and twisted indeed, like an arthritic fist.
This tree has a story to tell about every twist and turn in it's growth.
Weather and time has created what appears to be a wooden sculpture of some elegance. Lovely photo and wonderful poem!
Spectacular natural sculpture, well framed, Sharon!
Good to catch up with your posts, superb as always, following our return from Ireland last night.
Gnarled it is! I like the poem too.
Lovely post, Sharon!
Nice match of poem and photo.
Oh the stories this living tree could tell...the bending and twisting of trunk and limbs...all to survive another day here on earth. Peace be with you, Mary Helen Fernandez Stewart
The poem and tree coordinate quite well. The gnarled tree makes a perfect photo.
Beautiful tree.
Amazing! Great find and photo.
Beautiful post Sharon. The words were just perfect for the image..,
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