Poetry
by Phil Brown
THE MANGO TREES
Slowly morning wanders in
Past the Mango trees,
Gently blessing everything
As the Magpies wake and sing
In the early rustling breeze,
Ruffling every leaf and wing.
Yawning up the lonely road
Through the Mango trees,
Chatting, whistling as they walk
Come the children bred on chalk
Gathering Mangoes as they please,
Bending with the weight and talk.
Verdant in the blanching sun
Sit the Mango trees;
Swaying, solemnly they nod
Garlanded with fruit and pod,
Sighing as they quietly breathe,
Fragrantly, the scent of God.
Reaching for the earth and sky
Grow the Mango trees;
Groaning, burdensome with bats,
Scourgings from the claws of cats,
Scowling as they scratch and tease:
Mangoes spread beneath like mats.
Endlessly the seasons march
Above the Mango trees,
Blowing, raining as they spread -
Mangoes fall and footsteps tread;
Summers burn, winters freeze
Until the fruit is ripened, dead.
by Phil Brown
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