My Tree

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