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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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