Not that tall, not that pretty.
Slightly distorted and somewhat gritty.
That old white Plumeria tree poised on its own.
None befriended it, not a bird, not a stone.
One fine afternoon, between lunch and bunks,
we set our diabolical eyes on it,
& declared it abode,
sprawling all over it and springing on its trunks.
Soon it ripened into much more
than just one of our dens.
The spot for new culminations,
the spot for all wild yens.
Secrets whispered into its caverns,
unrequited queries of the young minds,
as and how the complexities of the world it discerns.
Names and & a <3 carved into the bark,
or a first few kisses in the dark.
It witnessed it all in turns.
Many summers, autumns, winters
& springs passed,
a million differennt days lapsed.
We got strewn across time & space.
But one day we all returned,
to our beloved tree embrace.
Alas! It lived no more..
Years of its eventful lifetime,
and the soul of our childhood had been
uprooted and persecuted to its core.
Our beloved tree had been cradled to its grave.
And once again to cruelty, innocence was a slave.
