Sunday, January 22, 2006
The oak in autumn is bared against a sky
as grey as that old overcoat of yours.
It seems a melancholy, lonely thing
yet underneath your shambling stride
each crackling leaf lies a memory
of promising spring
and summer's soft caress.
And those acorns!
The one that does not fatten squirrels
may yet take root
and stand, shade by shade
by this old champion.
in the barking wind
of some future day.