Monks Wood
to an unborn grandchild
‘Growth, growth and growth’, Liz Truss
Roaring down
the hours as if
to forget roots
and obliterate
plainsong,
the A1
has no time
for Monks Wood,
its yellow crosses
flashing their dieback
hazard warning,
but certain rides
offer a quiet
diversion, wild
service, traveller’s
joy and oak,
to where its music
can be heard.
To think of what
is growing, how
soon it’s greening
without the call
for any screech
and u-turn.
May you know
such a treaty
of tree-silence
after you’ve left
the endless roar
and pushed through
autumn, through
winter and into
the light of May,
may you sign
peace in your own
woodland clearing.