The Tree A true Story

In Ashton-in-Makerfield, where stories entwine,

Once flourished a tree, beautiful and old.

Its branches reached wide, like arms open wide,

A sanctuary of laughter where tender hearts cried.

In its whole being, beauty would bloom,

A shelter for lovers, a refuge from gloom.

Time danced around it, seasons would greet,

Yet anger and greed brought forth its defeat.

O, cruel were the hands that deemed it must fall,

For beauty like this should enchant us all.

Though timber and silence now fill the air,

The spirit of the old tree lingers, aware.

Let the echoes of leaves and soft breezes say,

In Ashton’s embrace, we mourn what’s astray.

For in every corner where its roots used to lie,

Lies the heart of a story that never shall die.