A tree worthy of heart strain

Scramble up steep bank,
of prickly plants,
heavy roots & mud.

Pull my feet through path,
sank in horshoe pits,
hold my wellies down.

Scare the heart, myself,
climbing over the river,
swirls of frothing fury.

Over a bank & roll down,
soft moss & leaves below
leading to that one tree
I saw from the road and
thought to get and find.

Just for this shaking,
out of breath & blurry,
lungs crushing as I run,
back to show them all.

Sunset sky fading,
in these fields,
no want for lighting,
for me to get lost.

My heart, legs and lungs are aching anyway.

I shelter at the edge of field,
afraid any further I could fall off an edge,
and settle down under my coat, contented.

Read as lymerick rythem:
This hasty mobile-phone-photo,
of my perfectly strangly shaped tree,
It is fuzzy and messy,
I chopped of the top,
still it was worth it for me.