The old drumstick tree

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!

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