Waving in the wind,
Blows an old oak tree.
Once a newborn sloth,
Small as can be.
The timid grass
Ensnaring in its depths,
One fatefully brisk evening,
A mother's son.
Over years of spring it grew,
Sprouting sapling seeds,
That stow away on gusts
From the Earth.
Nearby, one latches
Onto the fertile soil.
Roots spreading far,
Made to grow tall but not spoil.
Upward, higher, taller,
Growing stronger by each year.
Supplied by the sky above,
The sapling soaks up all the tears.
One of many offspring,
The grove surrounds the source.
Not abandoning its children,
For it is their life force.
The largest and the tallest,
With the thickest trunk.
The hidden rings of age,
Reciting a story as ancient as the tree,
From which the saplings came,
The old oak tree,
Once a newborn sloth,
Small as can be.
But how can this looming
Mass of limbs
Have been smaller than a cricket?
Smaller than a butterfly.
Smaller than an ant.
The youngest of the pack
Lays under her arms,
Basking in the shade
Of the old oak tree.
Basking, basking
Under the great gentle limbs,
Soon to join the blossoms
Up above her head.
A sweet melody to echo
From the remnants
Of her unneeded bulk,
Pierced with holes.
Drifting over the offspring,
Past the hills, the meadow,
The mountains far ahead,
drifts away the wind song.
The roots of everything,
Their hope, their love,
Their belief that soon
The harvest will arise.
The blind faith
That it provides all,
The fruit of life,
Eaten by the ancestors,
The creatures of day and night.
Waving in the wind,
Blows an old oak tree.
Once a newborn sloth,
Small as can be.
VOUS LISEZ
The Elder Tree
Poetry"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought, and that thought has found words." -Robert Frost Please read with caution. Some of this may be slightly sad, but I hope that most of these bring up questions and inspire you. Comment your interpretat...
