I am the tree in your garden…
I am the tree in your garden
that bears the fruit you don’t care to eat.
My brunches overgrown and distorted…
my heart’s been rotting within.
I am the tree in your garden
the one you don’t look up to see
I keep outgrowing my brunches
in the hope to bring you back to me.
But you take me for granted…
you know where my roots lay within…
So time… just keeps on passing…
My arms always empty…’cause you
I never can reach.
I am the tree in your garden
the one with the dense canopy
I keep out the hot sun in summer
but under my shade …you don’t come to sit.
I am the tree in your garden
the one that sheds its coat in the freeze
so the warm winter sun may provide with
a cossy place… for you to be…
But time …just keeps on passing…and you…
you don’t give credit to me.
I am the tree in your garden
the one… someone else may look up and see
who may wish to tidy up my brunches
and till the dirt around me…
Someone who may pay attention and think
that there may still be some goodness left in me.
Who may put some life back into my heart…and
taste of the fruit…You don’t care to eat.
I am the tree in your garden …please pay attention to me.
That was so nice nmod , life is like that .some people just waiting to be taken notice of.standing there ready to burst out if we but care enough to notice …..thankds ….mac
thank you Kathy…
OMG What a beautifully rendered poem, a cathartic song. But I definitely came across it at the wrong, wrong time in my life. It picked me up by my collar, and hilt me hard in the emotional solar plexus. Good poetry is supposed to reach inside the reader, touch them and evoke response. Oh my does this tree ever do that to me. I tell you it will need no watering soon. Here is an homage to your poem by another poet who knew of what you write.
After great pain, a formal feeling comes – (372)
By Emily Dickinson 1830–1886 Emily Dickinson
After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?
The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –
This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –
Wow…Oldbull .Thank you. I’m deeply touched by your comments…much appreciated… thanks again.
nmod…
I really loved your poem nmod – very evocative and true to life. I think we all, at some point in our lives, feel unappreciated and taken for granted. Thanks for sharing it.
Thank you Jo …so nice to see you …
I really enjoyed your poem Norma and thanks for sharing it with us.
Thank you Marie …good to hear you read it and liked my poem.
Loved this, Norma! …You are very talented. Thank you for sharing this.
Thank you Katelin…I appreciate your encouraging comments…