One of my earlier poems...
TREE IN A MEADOW

Tree in a meadow, uncared for, alone -
Untended, unwatched by the sun.
Once lovely, her branches grow brittle and frail,
Once fruitful, her harvest is done.

A snow fall, an ice storm, she leans in the wind,
Burdened and silent and gray.
A statue of stillness, asleep in the night.
-- A survivor who's chosen to stay.

The Parson, the Mayor and people with means,
Once voted to take her down,
And out of existence to kindling wood,
To pacify the town.

A moment, a season, the passing of time,
Still living she stands the same.
Her shadow yet casts upon my mind,
Reminders of whence I came.

It's often I wipe the dew from my pane,
It's often I see her there.
A meadow, a memory, a tear waft down,
On a branch
In the cool night air.

But who can pass judgment or think to assess
The life that is in the root.
Who can determine the worth of a soul,
Or the value of its fruit.

And who can know the mind and will
Of God, or the Powers That Be -
For here we all stand, the fruit of her harvest,
My sisters - my brother and me.

Victoria - 1984

Painting: Tree On A Hill Top -By Justin