Caught In Concrete

Misplaced upstart sycamore,
shooting from damaged concrete.

What drives such green confidence,
sprung as you are from wayward keys,
late buffeted by autumn elements
and the caprice of a council leaf blower?

Flying against reason,
stubbornly mocking the odds and gods
with rude and purposed growth,
some imperative demanding vigour
as if earmarked for higher service,
out of reach and unknown
to this observer.

When you become fixed,
will you stop and take breath?

Will you then regret your roots?

Should we consider relocation now,
free from a cemented aggregate
destined to limit lofty plans?

I offer my services, lost tree.

I have a spade.

I know a place.

Just say the word.

syc

Picture credit: Pauline Eccles (trimmed and adapted from Sunlight on a sycamore leaf on wikicommons)

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Devon Brock says:

    John, as a fellow admirer of “volunteer trees”, I love this poem. They are so very audacious in their striving. And the damage, oh the damage to our constructs. Thank you for this celebration.

    D

    1. Thanks Devon. This tree is in my drive. It is the second time that a sycamore tree has tried to thrive in a ridiculously hostile place. The first volunteer (great term) was relocated in the field at the back of our house. When we get to winter, this new visitor will also find a new home with other trees that my children have grown from seed. 🙂

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