The Maritime Cottonwood

– Clarence Holm

The old cottonwood tree at the back of our lot,
Anchored our journeys and hosted our thoughts.
Its branches were visions of nails and rope,
Tied up with lumber, planning, and nautical hope.

The morning sun set our ship’s course,
With the wind in the west there would be no remorse.
We’d pack up our lunches and load them aboard
Forgetting the napkins, which pirates abhorred.

Our swashbuckling voyage went on through the day,
As others came over to join in the play.
The limbs of the tree remained thick and strong,
There was never a worry things could go wrong.

And with the sunset we’d return to port,
Abandoning pirating and looting, daydreams to abort.
Back to bath time, crackers, cookies, and covers,
Repose for the weary and night dreams to discover.

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