In the heart of Freetown, a legend stood tall,
The ancient Cotton Tree, revered by all.
A symbol of history, of freedom’s birth,
Now brought down by a storm, the saddest of Earth.
For centuries it graced the city’s embrace,
Witness to stories, triumphs, and grace.
Enslaved Africans, seeking liberty’s embrace,
Found solace beneath its branches, a sacred space.
In 1792, they gathered in awe,
Praying and singing, their spirits in awe.
A thanksgiving service, their voices entwined,
For deliverance to a free land they now find.
The Cotton Tree, age unknown, steadfast and strong,
A sentinel of hope, where hearts would belong.
Freetown’s heritage, a testament profound,
The symbol of liberty, forever renowned.
But alas, a wicked storm tore it apart,
Leaving Freetown bereft, with a heavy heart.
A vacuum in the skyline, a void so wide,
The fallen giant, a lacuna we can’t hide.
Home for vultures and witches, they say,
But its spirit lingers, will never fade away.
From the ashes of loss, new beginnings will rise,
Freetown’s resilience, a beacon in the skies.
Though the Cotton Tree has met its fate,
Its legacy endures, a tale to narrate.
Freetonians, beneath its shade they find,
Prayers and offerings, peace for heart and mind.
Farewell, majestic giant, we bid adieu,
Your spirit lives on, in the hearts so true.
Through change and rebirth, Freetown will thrive,
For history’s chapters, new stories will arrive.
Disclaimer: Comments expressed here do not reflect the opinions of Sierraloaded or any employee thereof.