My roots hardly found support

In loose North German heath land

Since a few years they’ve dug themselves

Deeply into Caledonian highland soil

An ancient tree I have become in the meantime

With branches raised high into my Celtic sky

Carry that inherited top to the glittering Northern lights

Trembling on cold Teutonic winter days

When dark nights cast grotesque shadows

Till in spring magic leaves wondrously bloom

Rustling proudly with ancestors whispered voices

An ancient gnarled tree still I am

Whose forefathers seed once blew across the raging sea

Soon the time of hiding annual rings has come

No tree resembles the other in the details
That’s why you should not try to move me into line

My branches were never round and smooth

Steadfast points meet a challenge until the cut

I’ve seen a lot and can tell stories

In case you know about peaceful listening to a tree

Trustingly to sit on mossy forest soil

Under shiny green in mystical Alba

Ancient trees yet can be replanted

Anyhow sometimes even in real life

© Sonja Nic Rafferty  ~  May 25^th, 2005