The glistening

Where boney bodies lost to time
Reached down into the sod to lime
A keen attraction to the cream
Sylvatics or fagus dream

Carolled by nightingales is she
Wood pigeons too will sit on thee
Can it be the great beech tree
It can it can it can

Its roots stretch out forever more
Less than a yard deep to be sure
And prickly husks where in its fruit
Is clasped three sided bound to suit

Wild children come and chickens too
The smoothest trunk a olive hue
An artist brave whose palette will
Be mixed and matched with utter skill

Kissing the sky the mortal flame
Few plants will come its not fair game
No denser shade to the carpet there
Slowly rotting with time to spare

Ovate forms that come and go
Strong rich greens a deep orange glow
As the seasons pass we see
The gold and amber markedly

Ringdoves dormice and pigeons come
To feel the beat of Beech’s drum
Cowper brought them into “task”
And deer may come and to you ask

The oily substance does them proud
The badger boys will shout out loud
And collect a heap on which to chew
Made tastier by the morning dew

The glistening the listening one
Its twiglets radiant in the sun
An oxygenator second to none
Where faeries it is said have spun

The bluebells grasses into gold
Few believe this but as we get old
Thats really the time when old eyes do see
The faeries weaving constantly