Number 137, The Man Who Planted Trees.

The Man Who Planted Trees,

(adapted from the story of the same name by Jean Giono).

There was a man who planted trees, and did it very well,

More than a million did he plant, as far as one can tell.

He lived a hundred years ago, a shepherd he, by trade,

By dropping acorns into holes a forest has he made.

The land was desolate and dry, abandoned and depressed,

His sheep and he found life was hard, and all were very stressed.

A pocketful of acorns he’d collected from afar,

They sat upon the window sill in an old glass jar.

The hut was dusty, drab and tired, and rattled in the breeze,

The shepherd thought it looked as if it had a dread disease.

One day he poked a little hole, just outside the door,

And slipping in an acorn thought he’d poke a couple more.

By bedtime he had finished all the acorns that he’d got,

And on his knees he’d planted into little holes the lot.

All night long he lay awake and thought of nothing but,

Seeing trees o’ershadowing his modest little hut.

He brought some water from the well, and gave them all a soak,

Then took his stick and wandered off, a lot more holes to poke.

He took to walking far and wide, where he could select,

From here and there a hazelnut, or acorn to collect.

Time went by and then one day, he saw a little sprout,

And by the weekend half the saplings started to pop out.  

Within a month he counted up, and found he’d ninety five,

And sold the sheep to buy instead some bees within a hive.

The sheep he’d seen had got their eyes on something at their feet;

Young oak trees were a tempting sight that they were keen to eat.

The trees grew taller every day, and sank their roots in deep,

To hunt out moisture underground, wherever it would seep.

Over many coming years the forest grew and grew,

And underneath the grass came up, and wild flowers too.

The shade provided by the trees, became a place to rest,

A pair of sparrows soon agreed and built their little nest.

Others came and saw the chance to rest their wings and legs,

And perch among the branches and sit down on their eggs.

Where once there hadn’t been a sound, save wind upon the tiles,

Birdsong chorused every day, and brought more in from miles.

People started coming too, to wonder at the sight,

Some paid for bed and breakfast when they stayed there for the night.

They camped in shady places and hiked the forest trail,

And bought up all the honey that the man had got for sale.

The man who planted all the trees retired a happy man;

He’d done as much as any human being really can. 

The land that once was desert dry, now was fresh and green,

The greatest transformation anyone had ever seen.

© Stephen Saunders