stumps of two oak trees beside our yard
Earth to earth and dust to dust; I bless them for
their carpeting of summer skies; bless them for their solemn
sighing through our lives; bless them for their quiet
presence, gentle strength.
Ancient of years, rings circling round
and round, whispered tales of winter’s
ice, of lonely hearts that sometimes leaned
against their strength; rock-hard solid,
tough and sure, even as terror, wars and hi-tech
revolutions rocked our world, churning
and spinning our lives this way and that;
the oaks ever unmoved. Unmoved until
a growing weakness in the agѐd marrow
of their bones; until the trumpeting of stormy
winds threatened a fall like that of Jericho;
so branch, alas, by leafy branch, saws
whirring in the summer heat, they now
are shriveled to mere stumps.
Farewell, dear friends.
Life will move on, I know, new circles rise,
as acorns burrow deep to rough it out beneath
the stars, the sleet, the wind; life renewing,
life insistent, life relentlessly determined
always to begin again; but you forever gone;
your stumps a portrait of the mystery of life.