Dont Go Near The Old Ash Tree

My dear father died in a faraway war Left Mother and I quite without hope We used our last pennies to leave our fine city And away to a house on a farm And on this farm, on the thorniest edge Stood an ash tree as old as the earth With branches so gnarled and twisted and black That my every bone cried out to climb "But no! Oh no!" said our funny old neighbor Wringing her hands like two rags "Don't you go near it, young Miss Eliza For her roots are bad all the way down" I thought it silly but did as she told Until Mother went missing one eve So sad had she been that I feared the worst And went down to the old ash tree And now here I stand but here there is nothing Naught but a flowering weed But the breeze, I could swear, carries upon it The scent of my mother's perfume Yes, the wind, I declare, does carry upon it The scent of my mother's perfume