The Plum Tree

For my grandchildren, Bella, Jett, Eleanor, Max, Emmanuel and James

Look little ones,
the leaves have turned yellow,
the sky is pure blue,
the day mild and mellow.

Look little ones,
the trees are now bare,
there’s frost in the morning
and cold everywhere.

Look little ones,
there’s buds on the trees,
flowers are blossoming
and buzzing with bees.

Look little ones,
in this blossoming blooming
the cycle of life
is forever renewing.

By Neil Creighton

drawing of a plum tree
Sketch of a plum tree in blossom by the author’s late mother, Brenda Creighton

Neil Creighton is an Australian poet whose work as a teacher of English and Drama brought him into close contact with thousands of young lives, most happy and triumphant but too many tragically filled with neglect. It also made him intensely aware of how opportunity is so unequally proportioned and his work reflects strong interest in social justice. Recent publications include Poetry Quarterly, Poeming Pigeon, Silver Birch Press, Rat’s Ass Review, Praxis Mag Online, Ekphrastic Review, Social Justice Poetry and Verse-Virtual. He blogs at

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