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As a child I was an explorer.
There wasn’t a tree I had not climbed,
Nor a branch in the wind I spoke to,
In words I had not rhymed.
I tied a box to the highest branch
Filled with secret thoughts and words…
I shared my pain and wisdom,
In the privacy of birds.
My father wanted a swimming pool,
My tree, chain sawed completely down…
Still today the words I write,
Feel rescued from the ground.
I give credit for the rhymes I write
And the rhythms I use today,
To my Black Walnut tree office
That gentle breezes would sway.
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