Over the last decade and more I have watched a small hazel grow into a lovely well formed tree. It has been worth the wait. It carried its first few nuts last year. It inspired this:-
A Hazel nut that fell last fall
Was sprouting on that hill
Mid stones from some old tumbling wall
Where soil had lost its chill.
Its verdant leaves could get full sun,
Good fast growth could be made.
Before too many years were done
Folk would enjoy their shade.
A hazel switch might well be used
To chastise man or boy,
Though sweetest things might be abused
Where they ought bring great joy.
Resiliently will Hazels grow,
Despite big Oaks and shade,
As they seek out the Sun’s sweet glow
Around each wood and glade.
A Holly bush it grew there too,
Was green throughout the year
And close by was a bank of rue,
That herb grows lush round here.
This Hazel bent in mighty gales
That tore down Oak and Ash.
It witnessed many dreadful ails,
Saw ancient houses crash.
It watched the fickleness of Fates.
It lived long in folklore.
And as each passing storm abates
It springs back straight once more.
© T Morgan 15.2.2016