Grove

We know well

The old ghosts

Wandering Victorian manors

Haunting librarians

Teasing the living

With their light switch antics

Where do new ghosts go

Might they choose

Their eternal habitat?

I must say hello

To Mother Tree

I did not lie

When I told you

I greet her upon arrival

Yesterday, closing my eyes

Pressing forehead to bark

Welcomed back for another frolic

She is confident

Centred within her grove

As her children sway

Bright, springy boughs

Waft fragrant pine oil

Through golden sunbeams

New saplings touch

their root tips to hers

Comforted by their grandmother

I do not wish to die now

But at the very end

I will curl

At her base

Draw knees to chest

Inhale one last time

Her comforting scent

Final, weary exhalation

A small gift

In acknowledgment

Of the peace
 she imbues

When I am

A new ghost

You may find me

In her sap

Trickling down her bark

Press your finger

To its sticky resin

Rub hands together

Cup them around

Nose and mouth

Inhale her vitality

Drawn from my bones

My afterlife mischief managed

When you find your fingers

Are stuck together

When she eventually falls

She won’t die

Her children will continue

Nourishing her roots

So she may still weave

Artful stories for us all

Merrily captivating

This joyful spirit

And the little ones

Holding her hand

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.

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Receipts for the glacial dip 😆