The Tolpuddle Tree
The tallest, broadest sycamore in Dorset
Is a stately tree –
Beloved by Lords and Parliament,
A pillar of society –
He’s tended by The National Trust,
As English as can be,
In a village with a funny name,
And a bloody history.
Yet sycamores are not a native,
Bringing European fruits
To challenge all the local trees
With non-conforming shoots.
These upstarts will not know their place,
Their seeds are new recruits,
And down into the bedrock
They have planted creeping roots.
Yet, for all their canopy may shield,
And union hold fast,
They do not live so long, these trees,
Their shelter cannot last.
And though the status quo may praise,
When safely in the past,
They’ll gladly chop his children down
And root him out at last.
Rhyming Couplets 