(For Jon)




Close by the gates of Brendon

a vision came to me,

a vision of such ugliness;

a barren runt of a Tree.



Ner was a thing so useless;

what could its purpose be

amid such rampant beauty

as this stunted excuse for a Tree ?



Yet while amid the dancing day

in the vital push of spring,

I could not take my eyes away

from the goddamned ugly thing.



I questioned it for hours,

until the Sun was low;

and so sorry for that Tree I felt,

but why... I did not know.



But when I questioned of the Tree

I had to search myself

for whose was then the poverty

 and whose was then the wealth.



The Tree (it was a mocking tree),

and I did give a sigh;

the goddamned thing had beaten me,

and I did not know why !



Hard by the gates at Brendon

a boy sat down to drink,

and there a useless ugly Tree

did teach a boy to think.



Of which then is more useless,

a moorland Rowan Tree,

or a mind thus not engaged in thought

where thoughts are supposed to be ?



I laughed and laughed as Sun went down

behind the Rowan Tree,

for I learned the greatest lesson;

the useless runt... was me.



And before that day was over

(a coincidence no doubt)

from this world I was thus taken,

to where Paradise is laid out.



But hark, a word of warning,

for where learning thus begins

there follows many a dark night

before reason also sings.





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