The Mighty Yew

In churchyard stands the Yew alone,Its roots entwined 'round wood and bone,Though many myths surround this tree,'Twill spread its roots long after me. For I shall die - be buried there!'Neath scattered needles I won't care,I'll be interred there's no dispute,From head to toe.. in Sunday suit. As seasons come and seasons go,Wet Autumns followed by cold snow,Its colour will remain quite true,Through Winter days and Summer, too. And I shall lie there as in state,Watch mourners pass through yon lych gate,People crying...placing flowers,Lovers shelter from cool showers. The branches trimmed for archer's sport,They will not twist - will not distort,Then.. with the magic of the yew,The arrows will run straight and true! So here in churchyard grave I'll lie,And watch the world as it goes by,While yew will cover and protect,As I upon past life reflect. Eric Harvey 30/12/2020