THE INJURED TREE

High on a hill a bent plum tree,
Lies half prone, where it started free,
A lightning flash or a careless board,
Bent it low where the damage scored.

Its neighbours proud, stately and prim,
Towered above with their branches trim.
Yet a special charm catches the eye,
As this bent branch, its leaves hold high.

Summer will pass and a message tell,
How a child can reach its fruits so well.
Its low bent bole - a fine seat makes,
And handy to rest as its fruit we take.

What may have seemed like a mishap grim,
Has risen to bloom with hope from within.
Spreading its beauty and service free,
A special delight - like no other tree.

A message to all, soft breezes will tell,
Its sturdy root still nourishes well.
The sun and the rain no favourites show,
As hatchlings dance in the evening glow.