The Beech

The Beech

The Beech of pure beauty
A noble stand
A deep purple leaf
A picture of grand.

Silver grey bark
Pink tinged flowers
Nuts for the wildlife
A home for the bird’s, open all hours.

The roots of old
Carries on giving life
Close to the bridge
As the river runs by.

Tell me Copper Beech
Stories of old
As the years have passed,
Stories you’ve told.

Lovers that sat with me
Holding hands
Planning there future
Ideas so grand.

Workers from the mills
Passing by, twice a day
Work hard to live
From day to day.

Soldiers of plenty
Made their journey to war
Some came back
But we lost many more.

The marching of clogs
No longer pass by
Stilettos or trainers
Or sandals if it’s dry.

Traffic that passes me
How it’s changed
Why has so much kindness
Been taken over with rage.

Now the closed factory
Turned into flats
I’m a view from their window
No more than that.

Excuse me Copper Beech
But you’re so wrong
You’re a picture of pure pleasure
Standing proud and strong.

Written by Pat Noon