The Tree Speaks

Where is my vanished April, where is the sun that I
once knew?  I stand against the sky, my arms
wide and high, my black bark barren
seasoned, dry

and the birds do not come though I recognise
their song, and the laughter of people is gone,

the fresh, the green, the water sparkling,
the windy days and my leaves fluttering
in their prime.

I am winter now, old and gone, the sap within
wanes, I feel it sink year on year like ingrowing
rings.

I knew my April
and it was wine
and it was twined ribbons and dancing
and the girls had flowers in their hair

flutes played, flags fluttered, people
are on the grass at my feet, shaded.
I was a marker for people to meet
I was a wide seat.

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