Tapping on my window,
in the dead of night,
a tree demands attention,
As he taps with all his might.

His bony arms
and prickled fingers,
unrelenting in their quest,
to draw me from my duvet,
just to rid me of this pest.

I could snap him in an instant,
but his fingers tap again.
I’m forced to move, a point to prove,
the clock reads half past ten,
or half past twelve, it doesn’t matter,
he won’t leave me alone.
It’s getting late, he sealed his fate,
I’ll snap his every bone.

Perhaps I’m being hasty,
he has a lot to say,
but he’s a tree, annoying me,
I tell him ‘Not today.’
And go about my business,
breaking branch and tree to bits,
and drop his bark into the dark,
and finally he quits.

I go to rest my head again,
and again he’s at the glass,
another twig that grew too big,
will fall onto the grass.

A bit of a different poem, not really sure where the inspiration for this came from, I just looked out of my window and decided I hated trees. Will link this to Money Flu because both of them are just a little bit random


One response to “Branch

  1. Pingback: Paper Perfect | Andy Writes Poems

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