The Tree

I planted a seed by turquoise waters,

Its care I left to a fisherman’s daughters.

With smiling faces they took up the task

Not a penny of reward did they ask.

They watched the tiny seed into life spring,

And prayed it may become some beautiful thing.

Near its top grew a green, peculiar nub,

And within weeks the small seed became a shrub.

They watched and watered with the greatest care,

Lending support till its increasing weight it could bear.

And when kids on those brittle branches would sway,

The fisherman’s daughters would shoo them away!

The plant now gave shelter to bird and bee,

And had grown under care from seed to tree.

Leaf-laden branches made for a nice shade,

Under which weary workers for an hour’s rest laid.

The wide trunk had soft, impressionable bark,

Whereon estranged lovers left love’s old mark.

Having thus made the soaring temperatures cool,

It painted a verdant landscape beside that pool.

With time the tree yielded plenteous fruit,

Now a priceless treasure, apex to root!

One day, the fisherman’s daughters beheld in despair,

Something looked different, the tree was not there.

See, the folk of that land grew large in number,

And lack of earth their worries encumbered.

So they hacked that source of shade by the bay,

So people would now have some place to stay.

The fisherman’s daughters almost grew wild,

Their grief was as if they’d lost their own child.

They watched, being destroyed—the home of their tree,

Thus ending the tale of the seed sown by me?

But no, don’t despair o’er the tree being cut down,

Nor for past joys it gave people wear a sad frown!

For from the hard wood of the tree did they hew,

That form most horrific—a curse to the Jew!

  And on that tree from which fruit did fall,

They nailed its Creator, the dear Lord of all.   

For once through a tree’s fruit the Tempter seduced,

And to sinful mortality our race reduced.

So came the Saviour us sinners to save,

To raise fallen tree-planters up from the grave.

Now, life immortal is given you free,

Because Jesus died, and He died on a tree.

So this I shall say and then end this tale,

There exists a tree which shall never fail.

Its leaves will bring healing to women and men,

And never will I have to worry again.

 For it, none shall ever hack out of greed,

For I’m not its planter, and whence is its seed?

© 2006 & 2015, Kenny Damara