The old broken house with the tree growing through it

(Capel Manor Gardens, Enfield, England; photo credit: Christine Matthews)

The old broken house
With the tree growing through it
Had an old oak wood floor
And a roof with a split
That let in the moonlight,
The sunlight, and starshine,
That perfectly highlighted
A tree and it’s outline.
The windows were shattered,
The curtains hung torn
Giving the sense that
The house was in mourning
For times filled with love,
With warmth and with pleasure
When life filled the home
With hope without measure.
Hope for a future,
For freedom, for dreams,
Before the old home
Came apart at the seams,
Before the laughter died out
And the stairways all crumbled,
And the heart-kitchen’s tranquility
Lay in ruins and jumbled
No light penetrating the
Once golden stained glass
Framed throughout the home
By once shiny fit-brass.


Despite the destruction,
The chaos all sooty
Grows a single, tall tree,
A true thing of beauty.
Graceful and elegant
Its long limbs reach forth
Searching for sunbeams,
For water, and warmth.
Ignoring the rot,
The tree reaches upward
Finding new strongholds
In what time has ruptured.
Budding and blossoming,
A soft rebel’s action,
With verdant greens and sweet pinks
Embodying attraction,
New life springing forth
Alluring, beguiling,
With one broken limb
(One can’t help but smiling,
For how could we expect
The tree would escape
Such a terrible nursery
Without even a scrape)
The hearth cold and bare
Does not offend it
Such strength and such charm
How to comprehend it?
How do we explain
When life comes from death?
When beauty from ashes
Makes us catch our breath?


That tree growing through
That old broken house
Found the most unlikely
New-life-giving greenhouse

. . .

Thank you, Bojana, for the quote. It is a nice tree, isn’t it? Maybe tomorrow night we will hear about the shade and the apples.

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