In its past this aching lovely tree
Was pruned with heavy hands
And left with its weeping wounds to heal alone
Growing useful, monstrous, silent scars, accepted
As a kind of beauty on its own!
But, if you look close……
You’ll see just one scar still crying
Open there among the rest.
The lady sits there still in waiting, ready
To be shaped in new shades of beauty
By a gentle Sculptor’s pair of hands!
(About a local tree. Part. Gnarled by pollarding) press the thumbnail for detail