The Inconstant Lime Tree Poem by C Richard Miles

The bare, black lime looms large,
Tall by the well-trod granite paving stones,
Its silhouetted shape,
A ghost etched on November’s neutral tones,
Which warns us of the storms
That nature has in store in its domain,
Portending copious clouds
Of miserable, unrelenting rain,

O, gloomy linden tree
Long feted by the poets of the past,
How can you dash our hopes
And tell us winter’s dismal die is cast?

The lime tree darkly broods
Upon the corner of the city street
A sooty emblem, gaunt
Above the passers-by that seldom meet
But hurry on in haste
Escaping harshness of the threatening breeze
Which bends the stoutest bough
And takes the trembling twigs and clinging leaves.

O, stoic linden tree,
Long feted by the poets of the past,
How can your heart be brave
When winter threatens such a bitter blast?

The lime tree’s mournful black
Stands stark against now brightening sun-shot skies
In contrast to the frost
Whose glamour, glittering there before our eyes,
Adds sparkle to the scene
Which nature threatens to despoil with grey
And clothes with crystal dust
The grassblades by the pavement’s stony way.

O, doubting linden tree,
Long feted by the poets of the past,
How can you stand so glum
When winter also harbours charms that last?

The lime tree laughs at us
As we seek shelter from the raging storm,
Remotely stands aloof
From us as we attempt to wrap up warm,
And tells that all is grim
But knows that soon will come a warm, spring day
Whilst promising the worst
To darken spirits, drag our dreams away.

Inconstant linden tree
Long feted by the poets of the past
How can you change so much
And not stay faithful, resolute and fast?