Wounded, stark boughs, limbs that have toiled,
Worked through the land, weathered & spoiled.
Cracked, open surfaces,
battered & broken,
No twisted hedge tales are heard, or yet spoken.
Arthritic forms reach high for salvation,
Desperately seeking their rightful ovation.
Wrinkled & knotted, like crusted, gnarled leather,
Looking like aged hands writhing together.
A resilient relic, an ancient sensation,
An elderly sorcerer’s marvellous creation!
22nd February 2019