I

I’m a forest tree, not a loner T

I share with many kits and kinds,

Of manifold shapes, shades and shares,

And with tongues differing in thongs

That sing songs of chirpy beauty,

The vast and rich spread beneath my feet.

 

I’m a tree in the forest.

Above me sprawls in an endless stretch

Over varying space and spade

A marquee blanket,

Of colours magnanimously magnificent.

‘Tis whence come showers of wet and light

That nurture and censor life in the thickets.

II

We the forest trees

Are a tough gang.

Against odds and lucks,

We stand tall,

To the thunderous tunes of wind

We dance in gothic romance:

Twisting, tweaking, and teetering;

Relishing the rhymes and rhythms which call

And letting them sink

Through our stems, branches and leaves.

 

When the breeze sweeps from the east,

We twist our branches towards the west.

And when it rushes from the west,

We chorus the move towards the east.

There, the gig in the forest trees.

 

When the Harmattan visits from its Sahara prison

With its hazy cold, dry and dusty winds,

We share away our leaves keeping us striped and bare

In an erotic appeal that preserves our reserves

Against the theft of excruciating burn

From the unbarred fire beyond the sky.

 

Here lies the secret of life in the woods,

Where the forest trees boom

All round the seasons.

It’s one about sharing

To season Earth’s soup.