THE CAMELOT PINE by Margaret Christian

Margaret Christian

This tree, here stood before white men

Set foot upon our shore.

Her branches held both food and homes

Of birds and bats we see no more.

The cheeky burnished Kaka

With beak long-hooked and sharp

Nipped its way from limb to limb

Seeking grubs beneath her bark.

In dark sepulchral crevices

Small bats hid from the light

Until emerging, clicking, swooping

On the insects of the night.

In the shady coolness of her roots all mossy

Flashed red legs, white head, purple back, glossy

Of the Ground Dove; gentle seeker of a peaceful life

Ended by cats, the gun and the knife.

Long toes on legs like stilts once bore

The woodland rail from trees to shore.

Their probing beaks in soil and leaf

Won food from forest and from creek.

The only songbird for a thousand miles

Gloriously sang, despite its trials

With rats and Man. ‘Til History it did enfold

The Triller filled the air with gold.

But what’s that now?! A flash of green

And purple in the shade is seen; and ever curious ... it turns…

A snow white breast comes into view

And listen! The Wood Quest’s gentle coo.

This old tree has known them all,

And Sunnas, lizards, hawks and owls,

The ravaging Red-eye in the plun;

They are all gone now, every one.

So when the wind blows and hushed tree-words

Are carried to Kingston, delivered by birds,

Do the old trees remember the small lizard feet?

The rustle of bats’ wings, the tug of the beak?

Do they share their old memories

As the fields yield to plow?

As the green grass grows ‘round them

To feed White Man’s cow?

Are those whispered words I hear as I start?

“It’s soon time to go … we all must depart.

But the next generation will bring forth new vigour,

We can rest our old limbs as we watch them grow bigger.

And they shall remember those tales we pass on.

Open hearts will hear, and  right all the wrongs.”