A Palm tree

A Palm,
erect and steady,
a whispering watchman
protecting a sandy haven.
Bore out from its surface,
a tiny river spirals up its trunk,
separating gray flesh
from green.
Torn and forgotten,
loose skin hangs below,
as a bulge of growth explodes
erupting an emerald jungle.
A reverse hammock of reaching fingers
extend, dropping triangular tendrils
along its length,
their tips drained of life,
an aged beard.
Below, green bulbs
dimly hang throughout,
fading as time passes by.
Wind toys and tickles
sun kissed fans,
sending them into a frolicking dance
cascaded against life’s blue screen.
As Jess and I sit beneath,
we are reminded of a blonde
sometimes brunette, blonde,
and brunette blonde again goddess,
who would truly appreciate the simplistic
beauty of this prolific tree.
So here we dedicate this to you, Roz……..A Palm tree!