weird tree

          

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.