Tree on the Drostdy Lawns

Perhaps you will cast down only

whatever it is you want to,

whatever it is you need to cast down:

moths and manna, coins, rain and silver goblets,

your roots aching with that elemental

longing of a child’s outstretched arms,

pulling in, holding on, needing.

Perhaps your sky is hot, or misted cool,

or only really there when the weather

moves, when you too are cast down beneath it,

clouded in leaves, twigs, branches, birds.

Perhaps my roots and yours, my gifts

and yours, my span and yours are one;

perhaps, after all, we’re the same.

© Harry Owen

Highly commended in Poetry Space Competition 2011

From Green Spaces anthology published by Poetry Space Ltd, 2011

The anthology contains the winning and commended poems from Poetry Space Competition 2011, chosen by Rose Flint.