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The Old Gnarled Tree
Roots protruding above the hard ground,
Half-hidden by the grass growing around.
The gnarled twisted trunk betrays its age,
A crack up above, a gift of lightning' s rage.
The bark is shingled all upon its trunk,
Which disappears where the roots have sunk.
The branches are strong, they grow by layer,
Reaching to the heavens in majestic prayer.
The branches form a giant skeleton shell,
The leaves returned, bring shade so well.
The sound of rustling blows through its leaves,
A wonderful feeling of calm in my soul it weaves.
As I sit here under this gnarled old tree so treasured,
I wonder how many years so far it has measured.
Has it grown to this size just in time for me ?
Or did my ancestors once sit here under this tree?
I watch as a bird, lands on its limb,
Singing a song that sounds like a hymn.
I feel the gentle breeze, I breathe in the fresh air,
and wonder if trees in heaven will be quite as fair.
Glenn Bergen, 2012
A Follower Of The Old Ways
Find articles, thoughts, and inspired poetry by Glenn Bergen.
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