Tree at sunset
Trees come in an eye-catching variety:
Naked, dressed in autumnal splendour,
Or clothed in a perpetual evergreen.
Some tall and shapely, others squat and strong.
Still more look slightly disheveled,
As if just woken from sleep.
This tree is different.
Outlined against the evening sky
It is not the shapeliest of trees,
Grotesque, lacking symmetry,
Perhaps even slightly sinister.
Its naked branches, which like gnarled fingers
Snatch at the sky,
Provide a perch for iridescent crows,
Which wait and watch as I pass.
Silhouetted as it is against the sky,
It demands my attention.
Not beautiful, but eye-catching
Old, shaped by the storms it has withstood
Through a long and eventful life.
And now, at sunset and close of day,
It has my admiration and respect.