Sunday Trees

The Old Man in the Tree

This wood is sacred: it is forbidden to harvest here:

Not mushrooms or berries, not fallen limbs nor timber

Here the birds tiptoe and sing sotto voce

Kookaburras giggle elsewhere and cockatoos retreat

The wombats skirt the grove, no koala takes refuge

Even bushfires leap this ridge

The trees stand on, keeping vigil for the Old Man

The wood is sacred, a cenotaph

Listen to the keening of the wind in the branches:

Never forget, never forget

x