Thursday, 23 November 2017

The Hollow Tree


There is a tree in my memory
Hollowed out of mollusced softness
Black and burnt she felt like a cloak
Where one could hide from others eyes
Seek shelter where no one spoke








The tree was in Moyola Park
Where owls hooted in the dark
And boy scouts climbed the clambered bough
To spool and dive in the Race's stream
And quench the thirst of Summer’s dream


That tree if it were now still there
Would be so small I would not dare
Sit, squat and hunkered in my den
I’d go there now to live my life again

(c) O Derry Boy April 2013

2 comments:

  1. What a beautiful poem!

    (on behalf of Lulu, a Chinese reader)

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  2. Another cracker Mervyn! I hadn't looked here recently, glad to see you are still in great form.

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