Poetry: Back from the Past

I have always enjoyed bringing pen to paper. When I was a child, I could be found writing in my diary, which was later upgraded to a journal because then I was twelve and thought I was too sophisticated for a locked diary with its little key.

Though I don’t write poetry these days, I enjoyed it very much in my earlier years. This year for Earth Day, I thought I’d share a poem I wrote when I was younger. I’m not sure how old I was, but the original draft was typed (probably on my dad’s typewriter), so I’m figuring I was in my mid-teens. I’ve made no changes because sometimes, especially when we live in a time with such uncertainty, simplicity is just what we need.

Jenny’s Tree

One sun shining spring day

I believe it was in May,

I went walking through a field

To only pass the day.

I had many dreams of hope 

But with so many unanswered prayers,

I felt as I was useless

And had few too many cares.

I stopped only for a moment

To take a look around,

Something caught my attention

Down upon the ground.

I noticed among the prairie grass

A plant of a different hue,

A tiny outstretched limb

With dangling leaves of two.

A tiny tree had taken sprout

Possibly the year before,

Was trying hard to reach the sun

From beneath the prairie floor.

Its leaves were dry and all curled up

As if death were soon at hand,

Its days were numbered by less than few

Returning to earth’s recycling land.

Something happened at that moment 

That is difficult to explain,

A need to save this little plant

And release it from its strain.

I carefully flattened the prairie grass

That surrounded this baby tree,

And carefully loosened the succulent soil

Setting its fragile roots free.

In my hand I held it firm

The tree that was so very small,

I needed to make perfectly sure

This tiny plant not fall.

To my home from far away 

I walked a perfect gait,

So terribly excited that it was I 

To determine this nature’s fate.

I dug a hole small and round

Perfect for my tree,

I placed the roots beneath the ground

I was certainly proud of thee.

I patted soil around its base

Placed a fence around its stem,

I watered it several times again

And gave it a little trim.

Every day I cared for this tree

With unconditional love,

I urged each night for sun and rain

To shower from high above.

I trimmed and watered, loved and fed

My tiny little tree,

And then one day I joyfully noticed 

Big, bright green leaves of three.

Autumn arrived with beautiful colors

Of golden, orangey-red,

Winter soon upon the tree

It went away to bed.

Patiently I awaited

For winter’s cold to end,

In hopes to see my little tree

Taking root once again.

And there it was with tiny buds

Poking through the snow,

Reaching up toward Heaven’s sun

Promising to grow.

That tiny tree grew so fast 

Every day and night,

Turning buds into maple leaves

A truly magnificent sight.

So there it stood a maple tree

Tall and strong as ever,

With loving care for many years

It was surely here forever.

Larger and higher the maple grew

Tossing shade upon my brow,

The time was here to enjoy its gift

That was proudly presented now.

Then one day when admiring my tree

That so carefully I had grown,

Along came a passerby

To claim it as his own.

The passerby enjoyed the shade

That the maple was willing to share,

But he gave it nothing in return

Because he thought he needn’t care.

And in the spring some following years

The passerby regretfully found,

A once ago maple tree

Had sunk back to the ground.