This great beech merges with
my life. Each day its canopy
of wind-carved branches filters

nuances of sun as if through lace
dictates where I can work
what will grow in my garden

gathers a weight of water
and waits to rain on me
when no-one else gets wet

harnesses the wind to fling
down snapped limbs and a whip
of twigs. Ring upon ring inside

the massive trunk show it has
seen at least four generations
of cradles come and coffins leave

this house. Mere feet away
it spreads persistent roots beneath
grass, terrace, kitchen,

living room and hall,
an unseen world growing
right under my feet.