An old drumstick tree
Stood near my fence.
Gnarly and haggard,
It stood, resigned.
No flower graced
Its boughs; no fruit hung.
Sad and alone,
It stood by the fence.
I thought I’d cut it down.
“Let’s save some space,”
I told the tree,
“You are no good.”
I marched to the tree
Axe on the ready.
Sharp blade did glisten,
In the scorching sun.
I swung into action,
Then, stopped;
A small voice inside
Said, “Don’t.”
I suppose it’s difficult
For mothers to kill.
I didn’t want an Albatross
Hung around my neck!
Threw away the axe.
Took a watering can,
Then I watered
My old drumstick tree.
Slowly, but surely,
The tree came alive.
Slowly, but surely,
Bees came a-buzzing.
Today, I see my old drumstick tree,
Flower and fruit laden,
Like a new bride,
Stand shy and demure.
I suppose,
Miracles do happen
When we don’t give up!
