My Tree
By Alexandra B
Published 8 September 2022
Her branches stretch to the crisp blue sky
Where wispy white clouds float on high
Her roots go deeper than the ancient dead
She knows this place, she knows this stead
Through summer, autumn, winter and spring
Her watchful eyes gaze, and hope they bring
Her soft green leaves dance through the breeze
Graceful bows swaying, as she puts me at ease
I could sit for hours against her solid trunk
Listening to her stories, as into them I sunk
She tells me tales of old and new
Legends and myths of order and askew
She tells me of misted waterfalls
And howling dingo calls
Of emerald green valleys
And busy city alleys
Of red and earthy soil
Where farmers forever toil
She is me and I am her
The spirit of the land, Australia