this is the last poem for today.
Silver Birch
Oldest and tallest tree in the garden
Nurturing fungi at its base
Surrounded by moss
And wild flowers
The blackened and rugged trunk
Stretches up its warty limbs
Shedding bark like silvery tissue
To its faded yellow canopy
Where woodpecker and owl
Sit among its drooping branches
And tangled masses of witch’s brooms
Symbol of renewal
Driving out spirits of the old year
Keeping the garden pure
writing in north norfolk 