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The Hawthorn

Words of appreciation
by John Morey Copyright 2022

I am everywhere
But I am usually ignored -
Even though I do have value to many,
If only they would ask.

Unlike the oak I lack stature so,
To compensate, I abound in numbers
and sometimes form a whole hedgerow.

It's the berries that attract attention
Albeit, mainly from birds.
For food.

But the wily schoolboy is sometimes the first
To feast on my bounty. My leaves. On his way home.
In early Spring I am green and fresh,
A treat that many children tease
Their friends - with 'bread and cheese'.
(At least, that's what we called it.)

In spite of such earlier recognition of me and my worth,
Later, very few go on to use my berries thereafter.
For preserves; for salads; even for wine.
Or - most important - medicinally.

Maybe they should.

(As did their forefathers.)

Hawthorn tree in myth and legend - in poetry

Among humankind I have my counterpart.
Abundant. Everywhere.

Like me - largely overshadowed
By the more vociferous; by the bold; by the gregarious.
Even by the needy - seeking others' approval.

Yes. My human equivalent exists aplenty.
Offering shade and shelter - even nourishment
to those around.
(But more so of the spiritual kind.)

However, like me they may often be cut; dispensed with; Replaced.


Or simply ignored.

I'm not sure which is the more unjust.

The Hawthorn image courtesy of

Unsplash and  Yoksel Zok

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