Page Three of

The Anville Family Tree

If I Were a Tree...


If I were a tree I would plant my roots down deep in the fertile soil; so far that I could not be toppled with the mighty force of wind or steely determination of man.

I would have high branches that would not droop due to the climbing of children or hanging of black tire swings. They would be firm and proud against such intrusions.

If I were a tree I would be a fruitless plum or other non-bearing variety; preferring to go unnoticed by those wishing to strip me of my valuables as if it were their right to have them. Self-preservation would be my obsession, my fondest desire.

I would be a perfect tree for birds wishing to nest in my boughs. They do not ask for more than one can give, just a temporary place to rest and incubate new life.

If I were a tree I would make sure that, my wood was useless to those who would cut me down for lumber or a cord or two of firewood, as this is especially degrading for a tree as fine as I would be.

If I were a tree I would be so beautiful that no one could bear to harm me in any way saying "she is magnificent, we shall leave her alone." And I would live in harmonious peace with my surroundings.

But, sadly, I am not a tree. So, I guess I have no reason to ponder such things. I should just disregard all those lofty ideas and choose another path for myself.

But, if I were a tree...
-Bess Kemp 1999

Fishing

Stripers,
Catfish,
Salmon,
and Trout;
these are the ones
my dad's dreaming
about.

He's out on the boat
in his dreams
catching them all
or so it seems.

- Hayley Kemp 1999 -

THE GOLDEN YEARS

I finally have reached the age
they call the Golden Years
At least I think I show the signs
They start around my ears
My hearing's failed, my mem'ry, too
My middle sure has spread
My knees are shot, my hair is grey,
That's gold?---It's more like lead.
And yet, the coin's other side
Brings thoughts so sweet to mind
Of all my precious family
God's love has intertwined.
My small great-grandson, arms outstretched
As he walks all alone.
Each grandchild solving problems,
Their future still unknown.
My sons, who call to tell me, "Mom,
You're never growing old",
And last, not least, a spouse who cares.
Why sure,---All this is gold.

THE ICE STORM

By the side of the road, as I cross a bridge
Heading home, there's a sight to see.
Its a constant reminder of winter's wrath,
When the ice felled this stately tree.
I thought that this birch would grow big and strong,
Last for over a hundred years,
But the winter of '98 in Maine
Proved me wrong, as it now appears.
As each heavily laden icy branch
Sadly bowed down to nature's will.
Every limb, as it broke, made a loud sharp noise.
It surrendered and then was still.
I am wondering now, if this tree will live,
Grow new branches both strong and white.
It would help me forget what a time we had
And would sure be a welcome sight.
El Nino and nature hurt many trees
Growing all through the state of Maine.
As the workers clear every broken branch,
I hope prayers to the Lord aren't in vain.