The Tree Of Rotten Fruits

It had branches that were writhing like hands twisted in supplication, People said it reminded them of a crippled old man in frustration, Trying to walk away down the hill to where it heard there's nicer ground, But was rooted to the spot by Devil hands its creaks were a sobbing sound.

The bark was rough like an elephant's hide and would be endlessly too dry, And the sap it leaked were tears from the pain it was in as forever it did cry, The leaves would be first to fall in Autumn and last to appear in Spring, They were usually weak and yellow with a white mold from its suffering.

About the base grew toadstools and mushrooms but not the edible kind, And in the knots and alcoves there's many a beetle or bug you will find, They say the decay is ancient and no threat to other trees dotted about, It stands alone as if abandoned while the other trees shame it to come out.

For when the flowering season is here there is but a weak and poor display, The others laden with pink and white blossom but that tree's all blew away, And as the rest at harvest time are full of ripe and juicy fruit for the picking, That tree has been beset by a plague that makes its own fruit sickening.

But oh, look how the blue skies and strong sun encourage the birds to feast, See how the woodland creatures come to the laden floor, every eager beast, Watch the thriving insects dance merrily this way and that in rapture, Every drop of juice or bit of rotten flesh consumed, Nature has ways to capture.

The tree of rotten fruit they tease, they ought to pull it down and have done, But everything serves a purpose even if unseen so just let the poor thing alone, We may not understand the ways of Nature its bigger picture go unrealised, But know for everything there's a purpose don't mock the unrecognised.