A poem about the Formby Village Trees by Joan Rimmer

Our Village Trees
For a hundred years they've stood there,
Majestic and supreme,
Enhancement to our Village,
A true arboreal dream.
Through two world wars they flourished,
Growing stronger every day,
Lovingly trimmed and tended
By the powers of yesterday.
Then suddenly the bombshell
From the pressent powers that be
Who said the trees were dying,
They must cut down every tree.
"Oh, no they're not" we shouted,
"They've flowerd every year,
Borne conkers for the children,
And our love for them is clear".
Dead branches just need pruning
And they'll live for years and years,
Such haste, no consultation
Aroused the public's fears.
With just one day to save them
The people all appeared,
In pouring rain we stood there
and stopped what we had feared.
The next day men came back again
And also so did we
And tried for an injuction
And surrounded every tree.
There'd been no propper survey,
So we got a short reprieve
And a statement from the council
That all their men must leave.
And now we wait and wonder
At the folly of it all,
And hope and prey our trees will stay,
So proud and strong and tall.
We Know there is no danger
If the dead wood's cut away,
They'll thrive and grow and blossom
For untold years each May.
They'll be a splendid legacy
For a future still unborn,
Nature's lasting treasures
One every waking morn.
By Joan Rimmer (01/02/18)