An Oak Tree

As a child
He saw the perfect shape of an oak
spreading a symmetrical canopy
like a thick smoky spectre
about his brain

As a man
He saw the imperfection
of thickly knotted bark and branches
that screamed of weather scars
the deep lines of each season’s shift

One branch grew
another did not
One branch blossomed
another did not
One bird flew
from one branch to the other

About this entry

You’re currently reading “ An Oak Tree ,” an entry on Mount Wilson Writers

Published:
5.3.06 / 4pm
Category:
Poetry