a Plan Hatched

And what of the tree, so spoken about,
That in the garden lay?
It couldn’t hear the wizard’s words,
Couldn’t hear little Charity say:

“Oh, wizard, I know just what you want,
Your desires are plain and true!
But this tree you seek, he is my friend,
Not mine to give to you.”

At this reply the wizard sneered,
So strong was his vile craving.
And to think that this little girl
Would find a tree worth saving.

Through his silence, Charity spoke,
Her voice a chiming bell.
She told the wizard of the tree,
Its story she did tell.

“I’ve known the tree since he was a seed,
An acorn to be precise.
I planted him in a ceramic pot,
With dark dirt, rich and nice.

“He grew into a sapling,
And I into a girl,
And as the years so slowly passed
His branches did unfurl.

“But at his feet there was a thorn,
The one you call ingrown,
And though the tree couldn’t say a word,
In the wind I heard him moan.

“So you see, he’s not just any tree,
Not just a spruce or pine.
He is an oak, and my very best friend,
Not a possession. Not mine.”

And when Charity’s words stopped flowing,
And silence fell once more,
A plan was hatched in the wizard’s mind,
Rotten to the core.

“You say your tree is moaning
And groaning in the breeze.
If I could make him happy,
Then could I meet him? Please?”

The End

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