| Tree House
It wasn’t very square,
But neither was the tree,
Both formed of deviating wood.
To say it was haphazard would be fair,
Speaking purely of symmetry.
We had done the best we could
To make it practical,
From a boy’s point of view.
View and concealment were what really mattered,
The main consideration being tactical.
For materiel, we had to make do
With slivery planks that we found scattered
Here and about, along garden fences and back doors,
Nicked from behind neighbor’s garages and sheds,
And rusted nails accrued from boards, pulled, and pounded straight.
We scraped up enough scraps for multiple walls and floors,
A semi-watertight roof over our heads,
And a rope ladder, with a trap door for a gate.
And when we had it made, we had it made!
We had a castle in the shade of a Norwegian pine,
High in a pine, where no adult meddling could reach,
A sanctuary from injun siege and pirate raid.
We stayed always vigilant, on watch for the first sign
Of invasion, with imaginary cannons at each
Corner, pine-cone hand grenades, and fence-picket swords.
Though we were attacked by more than a score
Of prowling cats, and robins singing out our position,
No external force ever conquered our tree or boards.
In the end, it was the enemy within that brought us to the floor,
The passing of age that took the blast from our ammunition.
~ Daniel F Mitchell |
