A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLINE


I see it every morning as I'm going off to work,
It's growing right in front of a door,

A tree that must be seventy years old
Blocks access to an old garage -- and more,

They say that the owner had a horseless carriage
In the twenties and a new garage as well,

He might have tried to drive it -- we never really heard,
It may have been a Reo or a Maxwell,

As a sign of resignation, he may have planted this birch,
Determined never to see it move again,

No one knows what's in this building -- classic car or not,
Maybe rated on a scale from one to ten,

If they ever move away, the garage's tenant will stay,
Waving bye-bye to a van controlled by Bekins,

By now the tree is suited for a birch bark canoe --
It could be paddled by the Last of the Mohicans.

by D. Edgar Murray 01/23/2000.