The Hanging Tree

Like hands
Clinging to a lost ideal
Roots
Hold on to soil.

From the branches of the hanged
Bodies sway
Under the heaving northern sky

A never ending
Barbaric pendulum
Keeping the world in time.

And I
Mud covered feet
Kicking tree stumps
In the rain

Think of growing
With leaves un-sheared.

*

This post is part of a series on trees. Submit your tree features to snakeoilcure[at]gmail[dot]com.

* * * * *

William North is a poet based in Chester in the UK. This is his first contribution to Snake-Oil Cure.

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