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The Tree

The tree stood outside my home, I felt it looked at me.

By Srinidhi RanganathanPublished 3 years ago 1 min read
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The Tree
Photo by niko photos on Unsplash

The tree stood outside my home,

I felt it looked at me,

I felt it, it spoke to me in wordless tones.

I questioned the tree and it did not answer my query,

But from that day I began writing a poem on it.

The tree was tall and swayed on the breeze,

I felt it was old,

No idea was formed of a date,

But old, it was old.

I began writing verse in a journal,

The tree swayed and watched as I wrote.

I wrote about the tree without a name,

And my writing trailed off.

One day, the tree spoke,

It said its name was Oaky,

I laughed. It was a joke.

I gathered my things and walked off,

Leaving it there.

I forgot about the Oaky,

The fun game I played,

I was busy,

I forgot.

I heard a voice one morning,

Some men cutting trees in my backyard,

I turned to where the tree was and it was gone,

I looked all around me,

Nothing was there.

Nature seemed to be silent.

I turned and went home,

I didn’t write that day.

But, I couldn’t forget the tree forever.

I planted a sampling today in the same spot,

Where the tree stood,

I knew that one day, the tree would be back,

and this time I’ll be there to protect it always.

nature poetry
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About the Creator

Srinidhi Ranganathan

I hold a degree in English Literature. I love reading books and writing is my passion. "Dream of Rainbows" is my first book for children. I love to write fiction, non-fiction and blog articles on popular topics. Happy reading!

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