Three Hundred Years

 

The Redgum over the road
gnarls and twists and drops branches
and lives, for three hundred years,
it lives.
 
It has its own reserve,
surrounded by grass with snakes,
struggles through drought,
is drenched just enough to survive.
It lives, and twists, and gnarls.
Three hundred years.
 
I see it from my study window
and feel very young,
temporary.
 
Three hundred years.