20240615
The Oak
I wonder if the oak tree knew in its heart as an acorn,
Just how big and strong it would grow
Whether in the midst of summer storms,
It feared the lightning would split its flesh,
And the winds would uproot its soul.
I wonder if it simmers with hate,
Or softly whispers a prayer,
Every time a bird nests in its branch, or a squirrel gathers its seed, or a young spirit used its shade.
Does it envy its neighbor? Or the majestic redwoods in California, and not see in itself a marvelous majesty?
I wonder if it mourns the sapling it use to be,
To have something to look up to.
To sway with the wind,
And feel the full force of Aeolus as nothing but a breeze in your hair.
Does it regret the passing of seasons,
The growth of rings within its trunk,
Each one a testament to years gone by,
A silent chronicle of time.
Or does it stand content,
Rooted deep in the earth,
Embracing the present with branches wide,
Reaching towards the sky with every fiber,
Knowing it has become what it was always meant to be.