That tree
All alone on the cliff face
Shouts its fell survival.
 
Its precarious ascent
From the glittering rock
Pokes out
And then stalks upward
Into the shard blue sky.
 
It looks as though
It might creakily rest
On one wobbly ledge of sandstone
Like a trapeze artist
Inspiring neglect
Of its spectacular effect.
 
The force of this elongation
The strength of its bark
The stern dapple of its foliage
Focus and flutter
As the train speeds past.
 
Someone else must notice its lonesome glory:
May we rejoice together
In your fearless beauty
Thankful that this nineteenth century track
Allows both tree and technology
To bow courteously at each other.
 
 
 
Gar Jones – August 2014

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