Through The Mist


The ancient gums stood stark and clear,
Great monuments to many a year,
With lifeless limbs since pruned by time.
They bore the marks and scars of war
With seasonal storms they'd known before.

But far beyond them lay a mist;
The picture all around was kissed
With early morning's low hung cloud.
And through the fog, but vaguely seen,
A row of trees in youthful green.

And what they were I could but guess
When seen through morning's mistiness
Though rich and full was life they showed;
But what they were was not revealed
From distance viewed across that field.

But as I walked towards that copse,
I clearly saw, from roots to tops,
That they were satisfied with life.
For where they stood they were stream-fed,
A perfect nature's garden bed.

I too, like ancient gums, may be
A flesh form of an ancient tree,
For I have had my wars to wage.
What lies ahead may not be clear:
Clouded now, revealed when near.

© Tom Chapman 2014