Once a farmer planted saplings

Once a farmer planted saplings along a field-strip edge, 
Probably an EU grant. 
But still, mixed trees: sprightly in their plastic-tubing nursery. 
Some of us formed secret paths to the village far-side. 
Trampling, we held back branches, crushed knotty grass as
Trails grew up and were discarded, when favoured ways were found. 
 
Small beeches, birch and larch embraced me in that hurried Covid hour 
Whispering their secret orchid treasure. 
Jewelled green field crops shone though spikey hawthorn windows
And giddy waves of skylark song fluttered against black crow call. 
 
I loved my little forest. 
I stood open-armed on your windswept hillside edge 
Calling out across the geese-laden fields. 
You laughed as I slid along your ice-filled tracks and got Velcro-stuck in mud. 
Do you remember when a man was living in you and I was afraid? 
But you ensconced me and held me in your feathery fronds
Through the death times and the divorce summers. 
I considered you my friend. 
 
Today I returned and you are all grown up! 
Just one track now: a clear and hollow way. 
Bikes, kagouls and dogs have snapped your twigs and you stand on strong, trunk legs. 
Adolescent branches only dance above discarded plastic socks. 

I don’t think you see me now: too cool! 
You seem aloof, head in the sky
Your mind on other things. 
So I let you go, but know my friend, 
These childhood things, are safely held in me.

ST