The ghost of his childhood longs to walk
The crescent patch of bare earth
The shadow of the tree’s past glory and beauty
Even that was denied
Floods had claimed the riverside.
Gone are the sturdy branches
That put sinews in his muscles
Swinging on the vines (later ropes)
The boy brown as the tree bark
Loved the thrill of acceleration
The feel and sound of splashing water.
Gone is the broad canopy of leaves
That hummed lullabies
As the boy rested in its cool bosom
Like a chick under hen’s wings.
Gone is the mighty tree
That can outlive human life many times over
Victim of human depredation
The floods that scoured the riverbank.
The old man would also soon be gone
Leaving the ghost of memories
Of the once pristine river
The boy and the acasia tree.
