Only the stump of the gangly tree remained
after Grandpa, who did not conceive the dream,
destroyed the dream with each cut of the limbs
of the tree from which his grandson fell and broke an arm.
To Grandpa the tree had lost its charm.
It had to be cut down to avoid more harm.
Adults are funny that way.
They too often see harm in children’s play.
Children, little heathens that they be,
expect harm with regular frequency.
And, so, the tree was cut off from us, but we
built a tree house anyway, in which to play;
and warned all adults to stay away.
It was not built prettily; but, with whatever
we pulled from cans along the alley,
and raided from piles of trash.
To a child such piles are a treasure cache.
Thus, we kids our tree house celebrated
though Grandpa was far from elated.
“Let them be, Pop,” Mom laughingly stated.
“Kids will be kids, as once were we.”
Lessons learned from a time so long gone,
remembered now, to remind us how strong
the need to create and celebrate rises
despite the times all goes wrong.
Life is simply full of surprises.
Building from trash is sometimes the wisest
and the best which we can do.
This is my self-study two.
annarino writes 