Spectacular Epic Poems 3 - TREES

The Epic Face does frickin rule, but birds rule more! LOL

I had to do trees before beasts-of-prey because the Pussy Willow (the British Goat Willow) is so EPIC. We will have a new Epic Face. "I am Epic Face! I frickin rule!" but not over birds.

Right. Poems:

(AGAIN (c) me!!!!!!!)

Yew

Thy great Yew who stands in the churchyard old,

Ruthless and up against damp and cold,

Lichen, and moss, and fungus, and mould,

this cat is worshipping the Epic Face.

But soon this wood will come down to be sold.

Thy great Yew who’s had the best of the Wood,

Say goodbye to the churchyard where you once stood,

And the berries that killed us if we ate them as food,

Crash down to protect us and, lo, so good.

As the longbow archers fire more to the sky,

Up and up and up more than high,

Down to the enemy with a whistling cry,

The Brits are victorious! Never to die,

And all to the Yew, dead and let lie.  

Holly

On a well walked-by hedgerow

On a winter’s day,

There’s a redness more akin to a rose in May.

The Holly berries cluster

In a bright array

To await the Robin Redbreast

And be plucked away.

By the well-trodden dirt-path

On a winter’s morn,

When all the other trees are looking bare and worn,

The Holly is as green

As a garden lawn.

The dim light twinkles

On every leaf-tip thorn.

Scots Pine

Scotland is my love

And my mother and my father

And my life and my home and my place to be.

Scotland is the health

And the strength and the glory

And the country of Scots Pines and my place to be.

We Pines stand alone,

 In a forest or in spinney

And keep our great Scotland like it’s meant to be.

English Oak

I stand tall for England

Stately for my homeland

Proud to be native, I stand tall.

Shade for my people,

Acorns for my squirrels,

Acorns for my Jays and my mice and my deer.

 I stand tall for England,

The beautiful England,

Stately for England, I stand tall.

Field Maple

Whoomp! Whoomp!

My seed-wing beats round.

My seed-wing beats round

Gently to the ground.

Whoomp! Whoomp!

Far from any tree.

Far from any tree

Is my place to be.

Whoomp! Whoomp!

I sail through the air.

I sail through the air

I need to get there.

Yes! Yes!

I’ve touched to the floor.

I’ve touched to the floor.

What could I want more?

Yes! Yes!

This land is fertile.

This land is fertile.

My flight was worthwhile.

Grow! Grow!

I put down my roots.

I put down my roots.

To feed my growing shoots.

Up! Up!

I put up my shoots.

I put up my shoots.

Fed by my roots.

Years! Years!

Years go by.

Years go by.

Reaching for the sky.

Whoomp! Whoomp!

My seeds’ wings beat round.

My seeds’ wings beat round.

To faraway ground.

Pussy Willow

It’s just not the thing with the Willow,

To think what the Pussy is up to now.

But what will come next for the Willow

Is what we should think about anyhow.

It be springtime next, the woodland a-spangled,

Glittering leaves thrust forth to the air.

Grow, strong Willow, youthful when age-old,

Splendour like Pussy, a wonder so rare.

It be summer next, with pollen a-blowing, 

Smoke on the wind of a beautiful fire.

Fly, oh fly, on the air be going,

On ‘til you find it, never to tire.

It be autumn next, the green is a-fading,

Orange and red, the forest ablaze.

Walk on home, in embers a-wading,

A wonderful sight in the last sun-rays.

It be winter next, the woods are a-silent,

Skeleton-Willow, branches bone-bare.

The winds are icy, the storms are violent,

But in Willow’s heart, the life is safe there.

So think of the future for Willow,

The coming of the next season of the year.

Pussy, my Pussy, the Willow,

Make it a good one to feel so near.   

Make it a pleasure with nothing to fear.

Totally epic ain't it? There is another Other Birds one that was written too late for the post. READ IT!!!

A Blackbird Courts His Lady in Spring

Lest more are others welcome

In the garden in the Spring

Than the Blackbird cock so merry,

To his audience brightly sing.

Blackbird hens and Starlings,

The cat upon the wall,

Heed to hear the darling,

The sweet refrain of his call.

His golden beak a-shining

As a hen-bird perches near,

On last year’s apples dining,

Faces with her ear.

Then finally she meets him,

They court upon their perch,

And in the mating greets him

To start the nesting-search.

A Blackthorn-tree is found so

They build together there.

Here and there pluck a sloe

To feed the working pair.

A week and it is fully

Done to suit an egg

And safe to keep the bully,

The Magpie, there to beg.

Busy are the bird-pair

Finding insect food.

Too busy are to more care

Of anything not good.

Out come the fledglings,

Take off one by one.

Little Blackbird hedgelings,

What good your elders have done! 

Byeee! Keep birding and making your pond and wildlife garden! Now the damned Mayan Apocalypse is over....... nah, don't talk about it. It is all BALLS. Goodbye.