The Song Of Trees
https://www.eveningexpress.co.uk/news/scotland/first-world-war-poets-honoured-with-violins-crafted-from-military-hospital-tree/
The Song Of Trees
They sat here,
back in nineteen seventeen,
beneath my caring arms.
I kept the August sun
from their fevered brows
as piece by piece
they pulled themselves
together.
Their stories made me weep
rainfall
from sycamore leaves
to the ground.
Such courage
and such sorrow.
But I had no voice
to join their sweet lament.
Others came
and read their words
from tree-pulp paper
forged in war -
and I realised
that one had died -
and then another -
and then another.
Their words remained.
Passed to generations
who would feel their hurt
through ink
and I, through sap,
would not forget
those angry boys
who shaded here a while.
Then, when I died,
my bones were sculptured
Into things of beauty
and at last I had the voice
to share my feelings
at their passing
and ring out their praises
at Craiglockhart.
Simon King
Mon 23rd Oct 2017 21:23
Loved this. It created great imagery. Thank you.