The Tree Hugger

Old Man Maple
Is pushing a hundred, we think.
Each spring and fall, it gives its all.
Makes emerald hall,
Speckled sun.
Sighs with the whim of the wind.
To one who lays beneath its tower,
Awaiting its star’s communion,
Such things are shown!
Layers of focus, light on dark.
Rustles of sound.
An overture to the divine.

Such whimsy is despised by some,
Pointing to broken branches,
Dented roofs, clogged eaves,
Upset neighbors.
I pay the money,
And wait
For next summer’s hammock time.


Hello, I am Lee Dunn. Working stiff (retired).  Avid reader, dreamer, and searcher. I write some eclectic poetry, prose, personal stories, and fiction. Have had work published in the Shelburne Free Press. I blog
on WordPress at

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account (if you have one) to the e-mail 

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