Inside the Mind of Isadora

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn


A tree grows in concrete

As such, a sight to see

I hadn’t given much thought

To how lonely it might be

One tree, weatherworn, twiggy bark

Hardly standing, day in and day out

Alone, trying to be burly strong

In need of care, no one did

City life, concrete at its’ feet

Rain, sleet and snow

No breaks, nothing but woe

Yet, there it stands for all to see

2018©Isadora DeLaVega



Wednesday Writing Prompt –

Speak to or of your city of ultimate bliss:

the city you grew up in or the city you grew to love.

to join in click here

Author: Inside the Mind of Isadora

Intriguing, sensitive, mysterious, loving, artistic and crackling with excitement for life is a pretty good description of who I am. I just retired from the world of art where I sold my Artfully Designed Handmade Jewelry for 28 years; although, art will always be a part of who I am no matter what venue I choose to express it in.

8 thoughts on “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

  1. I don’t know the book, but this tree is lovely!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Querida Rochelle,
    I’m writing again as my daughter and her family left yesterday.
    A story with your photo prompt is on my desk as I write. I was torn about
    adding it today but with it being a Friday fictioneers write, I thought I’d post this first.
    I adored the book you mention too. This title is one I was going to use for my memoir.
    I’ve changed it to A Girl grows in Brooklyn. LOL It’s still a century away. A title and no completed book. : )
    I’m happy you enjoyed my little description of the lonely tree on my street. You can see I too am rambling since it’s been so long since I’ve been in my writing neighborhood.
    Es una maravilla verte aqui …. gracias por leer mi poema.
    Abrazos y Carino, mi amiga
    Isadora 😎

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Querida Isadora,

    You caught my eye with this title. 😉 A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is one of my favorite books of all time. My parents had it in their library as my mom had sent it to my dad when he was overseas in WWII. Since he was from Brooklyn she thought he might relate to it. The first line of the book hooked me “Francie was eleven.” I was eleven at the time.
    Sorry to ramble on like that. Lovely poem, mi amiga.

    Shalom y abrazos,


    Liked by 1 person

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