Pale bows spread like open arms
upon a lush green mound,
as light trickles through a sea
of jagged leaves
fluttering in a tepid breeze
upon a summer’s day
light dancing on the ground.
Each leaf so precisely green,
a semi-translucent dream
of ever thinning veins,
till finest left for eyes unseen,
just a waxy texture of burgeoning life,
a thousand fold atop yearning,
On this dappled green mound,
where grasses thatched and tightly woven,
the Liquid Amber stands her ground,
flourishing, and for a lad as I a perfect climb,
perched upon its upper spying crown,
to see the world below,
or from the crows nest a pirate scenario.
Surrounding, beds of white daisies,
yellow eyes so rich in gold
bent toward the sun,
like soldiers at attention they run
in beds amid the terraces
meandering down to a home I know,
where sustenance is a given.
That old Liquid Amber
is every perch in dreams conspired,
of pirates, soldiers and buccaneers,
a staircase of bows, escape and stealth,
a covert operation avowed,
as monsters wander the plains below,
seeking prey and bloody kills.
So full this tree, this monumental life,
spread so vastly to shade my kingdom,
and a lad’s escape into fantasy worlds,
as kids do, in the richness of their view,
as life changes, turns and twists,
that Liquid Amber still exists,
its stoic stance a wonder.
How I miss that giant,
its changing leaves and seasons worth
on show in glorious hues,
colors of my childhood, an only child, a dog
and that old Liquid Amber,
those images I’ll never lose,
ingrained in a man’s memory.
Tony DeLorger © 2018