The  Bottle Tree   -   

                           by:   Linda Law

When I was a young child, I had never seen or heard of chimes

There were homemade mobiles, held with fishing wire…in my time

When the wind blew, they would tinkle and the sound would echo

This glorious, musical melody that drew one to feel it flow, and glow

 Then one day when I was four as I was learning to explore

The house, my dolls,  things began to come to life like never before..

On the veranda hung many tinkling sounding bells and pretty colored things

It was music to my heart, and I wanted to reach the sounds they would bring

My daddy pulled me to his chest, his arms held me tightly as we walked

Toward the orchard near our yard, where in the center was a tree that  sang and talked

The limbs were heavy, and with each one, the music signaled us to come near

Dad put me down, and pointed to the Oak…and I heard the magic in my ears

There were bottles hanging from every limb, thick and full the bottles hung

Brown ones, clear ones, long and thin, hung with wire, one by one

When the wind blew, they would tinkle and the sound would echo

This glorious musical melody that drew one to feel it flow

I loved that tree, and thought that the bottles hanging where how they grew

But soon daddy showed me how he made them sing…many were his old brew

Collected from bars and yards, along the years, people gave them so they could see

The gentle breezes through the valley, brought music to this huge old tree

The years went by, and the tree brought magic to many near our homestead

There were times when rainstorms thrashed against the bottles, we would dread

As the sounds they made gave way with breakage … always scaring me

We’d clean the broken glass, and replace it with another…waiting to be

Special enough to hang from the limbs, for another decade or longer

Kids begged to visit the Orchard, just so they could see the magic wonder

As I grew up, people would stop and ask me if they could come and hear

Daddy had begun a tradition over the year; men saved him their empty beers

Every November, the local hayride would pass, and stop at this lovely place

Sitting on bales of hay, covered in quilts, making sure they had a good space

The memories live on in my heart and mind.. recalling the goodness within the tree

Chimes remind me of those days gone by… reminding me how it felt to be free

Money can’t buy the love this Oak gave…

The smiles and wonder that kids and grown ups made

It was magical, happy, so simple yet many came together to stop and see

They came from the city, and soon it became known as that magic Bottle Tree