For Sane
All foliage lost,
It lies there.
The leafage that it wore as the crown of its youth is gone.
The bark has lost it luster,
Home now to a multitude of creatures small,
It festers.
The Great Oak.
Gone are its glory days
When it stood as an icon
To be admired and loved.
Loved,
For the shelter it brought
To birds of heaven,
A haven for the curious infant, always digging up something beneath its branches.
The Great Oak.
It stands there now,
Deadwood.
Quivering at the slightest breeze.
It lies there now,
Demanding naught but our pity.
All dried up.
Upon the very thread of life on which it hangs, it has loosed its grip.
To what use shall we put it now
But to furnish the hearths of our homes,
To be consumed by flames as we our glasses we fill to hearty laughter and fond memories
How swiftly life passes us by.
Short lived is man in his glory,
Yet all he accomplishes is an accumulation of anxiety.
O pitiful soul! |
LITERARY 
