Sat in the centre of a busy town
Lay a secret. A hidden treasure chest
Of perfect silence and beauty.
Four long avenues all lined with pine trees
Lead away from the stone steps playing host
To the rocky water fountain.
A palm tree stands tall with a chunky trunk.
Stunted yet broad branches look like many
Tongues sticking out from a monster.
Ugly. Yet beauty lies in the large leaves,
As, pretty and green, they spill out, waving,
Like jazz hands at a dance soiree.
This secluded haven has been soundproofed
From anything not relevant to now.
Now being this rare chance of peace.
The only sounds are the trickling water
Some crunchy footsteps on the gravel paths
And the light breeze rustling the leaves.
Laughter erupts as a child interprets
A tree to look like a person in mud,
Head first. “A bum tree,” he giggles.
The tree indeed has a torso like trunk.
Where the bark has split it gives the look of
Two legs kicking for a way out.
In the depths of an Italian town,
Hidden away behind trees and bushes
Lies this little secret garden.
Long live the bum tree!
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