If I Were a Tree Stump

If I were a tree stump

I admit, I would wonder

Where my top half had gone

Had it been chopped, all asunder?


And where were my branches?

With which I'd felt the breeze?

Or the fruit that bloomed from them

That'd borne my offsprings's seeds?


And where was the bird that'd nested?

Among my many limbs?

Or her babies who had hatched

So merrily last spring?


And where was the little boy who'd read?

In the shade I'd once provided?

Did he feel, as I did

That my usefulness had subsided?


What was I now, but a stump?

Barren and incomplete?

My home, my tenants, my forest

Swallowed by a sea of concrete.


But, one day, I found

My confidence soared

As I felt a thump from above

My usefulness restored.


For somebody had found

A new function in me

A place to sit,  ponder-

And  write poetry.

The End

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