Sewn, stuck, rooted.
An old stump that used to be
a tree of indeterminate species.
This stump is a rock;
still standing on this new ground,
a stranger. Yet it was here first.
It is surrounded by tourists
who will never truly know the stories
behind where they've been.
But this stump, this gateway into the past,
has seen it all.
It used to be a glorious warrior,
standing tall in armour but with no sword.
No weapon at all.
It was cut down, killed,
on the battlefield
that we now build our lives upon.
We thought nothing of it.
Now, in this moment,
I am sewn, stuck, rooted,
to this old stump that used to be.
Thorns dig into my jean-covered legs.
Soft blades of grass brush my hands,
as light as a flutter of eyelashes and butterfly wings.
Descending from the sky,
Leaves of the rainbow, lie around me,
ever so slightly rising and falling in the silent wind.
some have fallen and landed on my lap,
giving me the same feeling the tree had;
when it hit the floor and cried out silently.
by Ella Shaw (13)
Charles Darwin School, Westerham
Competition - The Poetry Trials
Copyright remains with the author.