The Old Pear tree

The Old Pear Tree

It lay as it fell,
The old Pear tree
I tried to count the yearly rings,
They were too much for me.

For over sixty years it grew,
Free standing in the field,
While all the creatures, great and small
Enjoyed its fruitful yield.

No hand of man had felled her
T’was nature brought her down,
And now the shattered trunk and limbs
Have stained the pasture brown

The mighty trunk, decayed within,
Concealed the deadly rot,
The seeming sturdy ancient tree
Was sicker than we thought.

Against the run-in shed it fell,
Thank God that beam was sound
I feared I’d find the shed as well
Collapsed upon the ground.

I did not see the rot creep in.
The outer bark seemed true.
Each spring I’d see the buds appear
And then the flowers too

But rot was eating her inside.
I guess the signs were there
But like a fool, I’d missed them all,
Moved past them, unaware.

And now there’s nothing left to do
But move the broken wood,
And burn to ash this ancient tree
That once gave so much good.

Perhaps I’ll look at what is left
To find a piece that’s free
And clean of soul-destroying rot.
I’ll carve a memory.

In life’s relationships I know
I need to look for signs.
Lest rot, or apathy, set in
And love gets undermined.

A piece of wood from a broken limb
Should not be all I hold,
When wife and children gather here.
Those moments are pure gold.

I’ll strive for more as I grow grey,
To love, and understand,
And tell this tale of the old pear tree
As I hold my grandchild’s hand