The Old Syringa Tree
Beneath this gnarled and twisted tree
In dappled shadow here I lie,
Looking upward at the sky,
Through overlapping leaves,
Patterned pinnate intricacies.
Mosaic of many-shaded green
With the firmament between
Is my Summer canopy.
Every Spring a lilac haze
Of sweetly-scented florets blow
Before the leaf-buds burst and grow.
Then berries cluster, golden-brown,
In sprays until they gentle down.
So throughout the year my tree
With varied awnings shelters me,
Giving pleasure all my days
(The Summerhouse verandah is built around this tree).
The tree is well over 85 years old.