Routes Poem by Phil Soar

Like an underground tube map, the roots of the trees,
Stretch from Larch to Elm, from Oak to Beech,
Calling at Holly and Birch on the route,
Stations where nourishment helps them bear fruit.

They spread across areas, twisting and turning,
All the while searching, All the while learning,
Stretching out sinews, to refresh their sap,
Searching new areas to add to their map.

Above ground, below ground, taking over the floor,
Taking in nutrients, developing more,
Woodland or Forest, there is no finer sight,
It's the Route of pure beauty, by day or by night.