a poem by Christine Anne Shaw, UK

The walnut wept and softly spoke,
I heard her anguish and her pain,
as parasitic ivy crept
and twined unchecked in her domain.

Gone were the days when she displayed
a canopy of leafy green,
a shady shelter from the sun
where children often would convene.

Now choked with limbs in thickened coat,
her former glory lost to all,
but listen, listen someone else
has rallied to her helpless call.

With secateurs in his right hand
he stands surveying thoughtfully
and with a snip at ivy's base
comes freedom for the strangled tree.

The iron grip will fall apart
and save our walnut's saddened heart.

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