W e i r d T r e e
There once was a tree by a lonely road
It squats and hides in the shade like a toad,
Who waits patiently, for a fly that is food
For patience is needed, for food that’s good.
Adults in cars that go whizzing so fast
Are unaware of the tree as they go past
But the young children who ride in these cars
Are scared and ask “Why not fence it with bars?
“That’s a weird tree” they say in shrill speeches
Watching its wide trunk and sturdy branches
They look like a tall torso and large arms
That once they grasp and hold. Sound the alarms!
In the now orange-tinged afternoon sun
When the parting day’s nearly out of its run
The weird tree remains so silent and dumb
Waiting for darkness to bring out its real drum.
There it must lie in daydreams and some doubt
That it can truly walk around and about.
And when the coming night slips to its deepest
It’s time for action, gone, moments of rest.
Its’ mind is active, its’ scarred face just beams
From thoughts of sugar treats and cold ice creams
It yearns for the hour when it’s free and roaming,
Its earth-clad roots out of the soil and walking.
No human being knows how it came to be
Such a weird tree that always checks to see
If children have been beaten by sleep’s might
If they haven’t, it roars “That’s just not right!”
Now that the round moon is up in the sky
Worn-out children are wondering why
They can’t stay up instead of lying in bed
After the night’s bedtime story is read.
But the weird tree we can just call Joe
Dancing its sway to the wind, to and fro
Knows in its wise timber and mottled bark
Children should be fast asleep when it’s dark.
The night’s time is close to the hour of nine
But Ella and Tim are showing no sign
Of lying in bed and closing their eyes
And bidding the long today their goodbyes.
Talk of amusing things like toys and wedgies
And the farts that spew out of Dad’s undies
Make them snicker and laugh to their soul’s delight
In the muffled glow of the bedroom’s light.
Ella keeps chatting about pink butterflies
And Tim goes on about Macca’s French fries
Ella tells tales of Dora the Explorer
While Tim is obsessed with the famed web-slinger.
Each then says solemn prayers from their heart
With full thanks to the Lord, their words impart
For the blessings and gifts from heaven above
And the pure, tight hug of Mum and Dad’s love.
First they discuss nicely and then they argue
Boys shouldn’t wear pink and girls never blue
But deep in their hearts their love is yummy
For each other, Oyo, Dad and Mummy.
A kiss from Mum and Dad has helped to stop
The taunts and teasing that make their hearts bop
Both of them lie with weary eyelids shut
Seemingly asleep, but there’s always a but.
It is now past nine, twelve minutes in fact
They lie now waiting for Sandman to act
But treasured sleep does not come just yet
And their Mum and Dad are starting to fret.
They toss and turn as they wait for sleep
As if dreading to hear the alarm clock’s beep
As they try and strive to get to sleep soon
The tree is stirred by the silvery moon.
Joe had a short snooze but now he’s awake.
Flexing his branches, then his leaves start to shake.
He has broken free from the moist black ground
Hidden roots are out, shaking dirt all around.
At the start his memory doesn’t blare
His purpose, his mission and skilful flair
Then quick as a flash and a two-finger click
The weird tree knows what it must do and seek.
.
He must tread and walk in the night’s cold sphere
Where stars create a twinkling atmosphere.
Its roots leaving tracks of dirt, its gait slow
Searching for those awake. Where? He doesn’t know.
In a span of twenty minutes at least
His roots start to ache and hurt like a beast
But he plods on and through kind fate’s twist
He reaches a house surrounded by mist.
In the house he has come upon this evening
He hears two restless children still not sleeping
For though he has no real ears that you can see
His hearing can sense a far-away bee.
His brain is now so alive and in flight
He knows what he must do this very night.
He must perform what he always does best
That’s to pluck these two children out of their nest.
Softly, gently he opens a wide window
With three twigs on his arm, way past his elbow.
As he lets in the scented breeze of the cold wind
Ella and Tim look up just as the tree grinned.
Its’ mouth was formed from a misshapen knot
Where a branch fell off as it started to rot.
But both Ella and Tim don’t even scream red
As the weird tree whispers “Get out of your bed.”
For they see in its smile, toothless and warm
That said tree means absolutely no harm.
It calls them to its branches, curved and able
To rock them to sleep in its silky cradle.
They climb on board and then they just settle
Into its arms without even a battle.
The weird tree just smiles as it hums and rocks
Warming them with leaves like woollen bed socks.
Not long after this, in the weird tree’s shelter
They fall fast asleep with hardly a mutter.
The tree first stares, then heaves a sigh of joy
For they look so precious, cuddly and coy.
Within its parched heart there’s a tiny regret
For he must leave and say goodbye to this set.
He brings them back in, carefully, by all means
To wrap them in blankets up to their chins.
All is in place, even strands of their dark hair
As the tree returns them to their nightly lair.
Lovingly and gingerly through its strange lips
“Good night little bunnies” he quietly quips.
The window he closes, inch by small inch
Ceases the urge to give their cheeks a pinch.
He cautiously moves so as not to disturb
The two fast asleep, on his way to the kerb.
Its mission is done, but the night’s not over
Around the house he must linger and hover
Just in case dear Ella and wonderful Tim
Wake up from dreams that make them cry and scream.
Epilogue
Long past nightfall, without the coldness’ reprieve
The tree accepts without much thanks received
It must so continue, never to be staunched
By any circumstance, which chance has launched.
The cyclic night forever shall be bestowed
To all who crave sleep in their lifetime’s abode.
The weird tree through some unknown decree
All those nights, remains sleep’s lonesome sentry.
At night’s end, as he returns to his home patch
He knows evermore he must keep a vigilant watch.
He fathoms, despite your sadness in pity’s gloom
His welcomed duty is weaved from destiny’s loom.
