Remember the tale of the fallen tree?
The plum who had given her all for me?
In the year of two 00and 0
She buckled under the North Wind's blow.
We hauled her poor carcass away
But the buried stump was allowed to stay.
She had given sweet plums throughout the years;
Not another like her among her peers.
In a year or two a shoot appeared;
An ugly weed was what I feared.
But I let it alone and watched it grow.
What it would become, I could not know.
And then in another year or two,
I recognzed that a plum tree grew.
The resurrection of my old friend
Proved to me that death is not the end.
A good friend of mine would pick from that tree,
Said its fruits made the tastiest jam and jelly.
I buried my dear friend yesterday
And ate the first plum from that shoot, today.
By: Joyce 8/19/06