The British oak may fill my head with images of sturdy reliability,

the sheer strength of will and powerful  robustness

to ever bow to the pressure of a thousand muscular gales

or the clambering and kicking of a million children’s feet

as they laugh and swing off branches replete with green lush leaves;

is one that I try to emulate in my soul,

but I know I am more like my innocent favourite

that of the sprawling, myopic, maudlin, mysterious and disapproving

Willow tree.

I fell for the drooping wonder