England’s predominant tree seems to be ancient,
lone, and singlularly knotted, with boils and
rough bark, straight and tall and massive, its
numerous small scrabbly branches clutching its
surrounds covetously; these trees hide much
and forget little.
Scotland’s predominant tree strikes one
as being various forms of straight, slim, tall,
and proud, both youthful and old, adorned by moss
or shivering leaves against a silver trunk, backed
by a whisper of complex color winding its way
through their masses over mountains.
Ireland’s predominant tree is a single, slight woman
perpetually facing a strong wind, hair blown back as
branches and moss, sorrowfully skeletal and delicate, one dot
in a wide green land– yet still standing, consenting
to be permanently shaped by constant, violent weather,
she endures because she has
no other choice.
c. Mary Kathryn Gough
May 2006; edit fri 17 feb 5.03 pm
*i had not travelled to wales at the time i wrote this. the welsh tree might be a colorful deciduous. if i decide, i’ll amend the poem.