written by: Chrystine Joy
How gloriously you tower high,
Swaying with splendor up until nigh.
The creator’s praise you sing for long,
You’re swinging, bending and standing tall.
And following your elegance,
The other trees do obeisance.
Wait!, seems there’s more to say,
How owning them pay.
The poor who own your empire,
You’ve lived for long to inspire.
Your fronds for the needy up close,
Provide funds for dues in the rural.
Your trunk as elegant as its empire,
Spreads warmth for us like wildfire,
Cooks our meals and sometimes,
You know Herbs that heal.
Your fronds can weave up many baskets,
So we don’t stack up all our eggs in one,
By eggs; our goals and visions I mean,
And so we don’t have to drive our dreams into a casket.
Your fruits for one sake,
Does not serve just our states,
Your seeds, what can I say,
Accounts for our glowing skin per se.
Your unwasteful living,
Helps us at times earn a living,
Your trunk even when down with age,
Provides comfort for listening to an adage.
How I wish there was just your kind,
Your fronds we can sometimes,
Use to drive the dirt from home,
Far far into the outer ‘Dom.
When the rain falls and the wind blows,
Tell you what, only them; the fools,
Won’t admit that you’re a masterpiece,
And that of a renowned great artist.
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