The spin-top tree –
The wisest of trees
That bore perfectly spherical flowers
That was also its fruit.
As timeless as the hills that bore him
He stood on his roots,
On the banks of the whispering brook
Like a solitary hermit on his lonely leg –
Meditating, contemplating, divining the universe
In all its intricacies.
His once young bark,
wizened into the color of a pale lizard’s skin
His branches gnarly
His once rich foliage aged into sparse tufts
of scattered bi-pinnate leaves
It was to him the creatures brought,
The unhappy queen and her disconsolate grief.
She stood so small,
Frail and listless
On the matted serpentine roots.
The spin-top tree smiled on her sagely,
Lowered his hoary arms
Scooped her up gently,
Sat her down on his strongest branch,
As he listened to her tears wordlessly.