The Tree Poem by ruby cunningham

This tree standing here
all gnarled and bent
was once a young sappling
with branches unbent
the hands that tended it, loved it you see
but got lost and confused
when sometimes in need
with memories of their own
at the hands of anger
they would become rough and harsh
as that of a stranger
through love and strife the tree did grow
and it forgave those hands, I know
for that tree you see
is me
Ruby M Cunningham