Hawthorn diviner of water

A thorny disposition
An attitude of mind
A phenomenal creation
Where lovers might unwind
A quintessential hedge of
Such significance for all
A provider of such wealth
For feral souls when they
Do call

Thankful to its feathered friends
For sowing its bounty wide
Though rooks and jays may counter
The suggestion is they hide
Themselves whilst dropping acorns
And enlightening the oak
As saplings rise to conquer
The Hawthorn just may stoke

Its place as a shrub layer
Within a sacred grove its laid
Giving colour bringing blossom
Loving light but bringing shade
In old age its gnarled and twisted
A true hardness to its grain
Little grows beneath it
With so little to gain

Magpies are often residents
Their nests of twig and clay
Surrounded by the telling thorns
Protection so to say
Clearly in ascendancy
Champions they be
Commanding a position
Of superiorty

A natural symbiosis
With the larger moths who be
Rather partial to the leaves
A union thats free
And Saw flies too
Are attracted a veritable treat
brimming with essentials
That the flying folk do eat

The Fae perhaps their
Favourite tree
In the Gaelic sense we know
You might wonder why a solitary tree
In a bare old field may grow
Stones laid around its base line
And there apparently it sits
Upon its ownsome settled there
Living off its wits,

There is a self-sufficiency
A crowning so to say
A beautiful budding brimful
Bestows the month of May
Its initiative compelling
For men an eroticness
An assemblage of such beauty
From afar the goddesses dress

And a heady scent of Springtime
A compliment of cream
Spiritually uplifting
Inducing perhaps a dream
A voluptuous crescendo
and an alluring symphony
And a muse fit for a moment
Of possibility,

Beltaine welcomes its influence
But Its blossoms must never be
Cut and brought into the home
Its true blown fantasy
Is to stay where it creates its gifts
Upon its stalwart host
No man must ever cut it down
For he shall never boast

To such aa act i promise you
Whatever habitat
For to annoy the Fae
One would surely pay
So best leave it where its at
Many a classic poet’s eyes
Noted it and wrote
From Spenser through to
SHakespeare as a nosegay
It was sought

The holy thorn At Glastonbury
On wearyall hill
The tree
The Chinese love the haw berries
Air dried and sliced they be
A health providing lozenge
A heart tonic some say
The druids made their wands from it
And the may pole so they say
A sprig of hawthorn in your hat
And lightening will not strike
And you will be safe from ghosties
The sort you may not like

The sixth moon of the celtic year
Renewed growth and strength
Its all about mental activity
To go to a greater length
Of true spirituality
And harvesting at source
The knowledge that you need to gain
That very potent force

And true survivability
Whatever time of year
Through the winter’s wild vivacity
To when the flowers appear
And onward to the haws
The nativity
The vital spark the heart chakra
And the longevity

Onwards to the sky you go
Touch it if you dare
As bumans stretch their bodies
And now dont seem to care
Its heartening to listen to
The visions of the poor
The judgement of the many
And how much they ignore

The creeping hands of housing
Of humans when they do
Need another superstore
Ofcourse we know its true
The woods and of course the forest
they will have to go
Make way for, a new car park
and get rid of trees that grow

forget we have an affinity
For they provide our air
And we provide the Co2
Of which they are aware
But we give up our oxygen
For the concrete and the glass
We chop down hardwoods in fhe East
For what we see as class

Wooden decking wooden floors
A big car run on oil
Coughing out the toxic gas
Polluting lungs and soil
We undersetimate the costs
We forget the Hawthorn tree
We underrate its value
We misjudge them tragically

They are always sadly in the way
The ignorance of man
The very unenlightened
Who tend to fail to plan
The asthmatics in the community
They soon will need the air
Delivered to them in canisters
In their concrete lair

Our country roads on green banks
The beautiful Hawthorns grew
And on May the 1st they came into flower
With help from the early dew
Enchantment and a powerful scent
Welcomed in the light
Breathe that fresh air will you
And behold that gorgeous sight

One tree and some waste ground
With the impetus all gone
Our countride is dying
Nothing lives upon
The sterile waste ground out there
And the land fill Still out there


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