Morphed – A Poem by C. Oulens

Before I turned into wood
I was a tree — logically so, I think.
Oh no, not the mighty banyan
With an unshakable trunk;
Rather, a diminutive one
With supple branches and leaves
That make music — swish-swoosh —
With the softest-ever breeze…
That dances with the rains,
That blossoms outside spring…
Bows down to swirling winds,
Bends its arms — for kids to swing.
Now, when I am morphed
With uses few, fewer to delight —
Thwack-thwock — the only sounds
Of me, from me — in this blight.

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