Lovelier than a tree

In Competition No. 2953 you were invited to supply a sonnet that has the name of a tree hidden in every line. This fiendish challenge, which was suggested by a reader, drew a large entry — and the following envoi from Alanna Blake: ‘Gor blimey, not the easiest of romps!/ But, Lucy, press on with these teasing comps.’

Fourteen-liners mean room for seven winners this week. High fives to unlucky losers John Priestland, Nicholas Hodgson and Matt Quinn; 20 quid each to those below; Frank McDonald takes the bonus fiver.

The Roman gods were wittier than ours;
They could appear in shapes that fooled our sense,
Bamboozling hapless maidens with their powers
And giving those that pined some recompense.
Our little planet offered loads of fun,
And gods would often plump for competition,
Confirming they were masters of their art,
Clashing with fools who showed too much   ambition.
They were the richest, nuttiest divines,
Who did not tax us with demands for love.
They fathered budding heroes and gave signs
That lust can figure in great minds above.
If only we could sup as gods once did
Or trace real truths that from our eyes lie hid.
Frank McDonald
 
Bid me to live, nor yet in passion die,
Your treasures shine, ne’er keep them locked away;
Your voice, in sweetness, charmed larks from the sky
When you appeared and sang a roundelay.
And as the bee charts routes through nectar’d fields
To sip each honey’d cup in dappled shade,
I’ll choose the plumpest buds that nature yields,
To pin e’en next your breast, where ne’er they’ll
fade.
Your prisoner; I’ll find a certain peace,
Come — love or chide me, let the sentence start,
For you will own the terms of my release,
My bonds, when cloaked in lust, confine my heart.
But when I hear your husband turn the key
I’m overwhelmed with longing to be free.