Pruned by providence on other days
An old oak has fallen in the forest
Once a tower of leaf and trunk
Now resting in a bed of ferns and moss.
Its day has come
A wind too strong
Roars high above out of the north
First limbs bowed before the storm
Then roots yielded their groaning- grip
And dropped it with a snap and boom
Full circle it is now earthly bound.
And when my wind comes
On another day
I wish that if it please the fates
That I may rest upon such a bed
Of greens and sod
Of duff and rock
And so gently return
And thankful for
This life I’ve briefly borrowed.
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