Tag Archives: trees

There is Comfort in this Tree

There is comfort in this tree,
For it was here before me.
And will stay
When I am clay.
To comfort those who pass
Along this self-same path

A few, perhaps
Gazing at this tree
May remember me.
I laugh,
For a tree
Has no vanity.


A tree branch, bowed
Half blocked the track.
I did not turn back
But ducked under.

There it stands,
Guarding the path.
Bowed by the recent wind.

Nature will have the last laugh,
Whether this tree
Outlasts me,
Or no.

Oh Churchyard Tree

Oh churchyard tree
You will outlast me
And your branches provide shade
To lad and maid,
Though I go below.

Yet, in the end,
My churchyard friend,
Thee and me
Having our lives run
Must both succumb
To mortality.

The Allerton Oak

As someone who was born in the city of Liverpool, I was delighted to learn that Liverpool’s Allerton Oak has been crowned Tree of the Year.

The BBC reports that the tree predates the Norman Conquest of 1066, and legend has it that a medieval court was held under it’s spreading branches. You can read the BBC article here, https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-merseyside-50141031.

I am a lover of all trees and, in particular oaks. You can find my poem “The Girl and the Oak” here, https://kmorrispoet.com/2016/01/03/the-girl-and-the-oak/.

A Tree Grows

A tree grows
It’s branches entwining
With another tree,
Forming a canopy
Under which pass
A lad and his lass.

Seasons pass
And sapplings grow to maturity,
While the lad and lass
We did see
Forever lie
Under sky and tree.

Standing Under This Rain Drenched Tree

Standing under this rain drenched tree
I hear the breeze
That rustles the leaves
Whisper to me.
Then, a sneeze,
Brings me back to reality.

The English Oak

When Brexit has been and gone
The English oak will live on
And continue to provide sanctuary
Under it’s all-embracing shade
To lad and maid
Of every race. For a tree
Does not discriminate, or hate.

Bark Rubbings

Close to the end of the woodland path,
Shortly before you join the thoroughfare,
I ran my hands across the tree.

It’s rough bark kindled in me
A child’s wish to an impression make
Of that tree, and to take
It away with me.

Had I crayons, perhaps I would have captured that bark
On pristine
Paper, creating a clean
Bark rubbing
Leaving the tree as before.

Yet as I stood
Close to the edge of that wood
I thought how one can neither restore
Nor rub away