Narra

As snow melts into rivers

and rain runs into the fields,

your eagle-spread branches

stared sky-high into the sun.

I could see you from a distance.

providing shade to the children.

learning how to rhyme and reason

to write and to rue their lots.

It was in this enclave

that you remain in mystery.

You are over 50 years old now.

My boy, yet you were not

afflicted with scoliosis

as well as disoriented by Alzheimer’s.

I see your brown rings

as well defined as possible,

your green mane as bushy as ever

your body as muscular as a wrestler.

You seem to have crow’s nest or two,

as well as a balding spot, too.

But it doesn’t bother you

as these kids engrave hearts into

your tummy like temporary tattoos.

Some embellished it with blood

and tears of happiness or sorrow.

You only hated

the jagged edge of my kitchen knife.

Normally, you do not mind a nick

but be piqued by a prick

since you are so bloody sensitive.

You came from a place tropical

and warm. They call you,  “Narra”

You serve as a good shelter

and excellent source of  lumber

(not to  mention a great swinger.)

People here respect you

defer to your  majesty.

Your spirit soars into the sea

into and over the heavens.

You grow into me, I into you –

I used to see you young and vibrant.

Now, you are a bit weary but wise

Narra, my name is still etched into you.

Thank you.