In the autumn we take a trip
to visit my grandma’s favourite tree.
“It’s been there ever since I was
a little girl” she says.
Her tree is alone in the middle of a field
by the side of the road we always drive down
every time we come around
on our journey up from London.
Its once green leaves now crusty brown
with skeleton branches poking through,
its trunk stands firm and tall and proud
in the face of the changing seasons.
In the autumn we take a trip
to visit my grandma’s favourite tree.
It is not dead, though it seems to be;
it knows that summer will come again.
it knows that summer will come again.
