Don't 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