Reveille
How venerable the aged tree
Pinnacled in the sky
Great at the base
Massive limbs arch across the plain
Insupportable boughs suspended nonetheless
Tapered fingers stretching the very notion of extremity.
Bereft the farmer who does not see his resting flock beneath
Shading from the worst of the summer sun
No
I would not cut you down
Though you block the tractor's way
I would plough round
Making straight furrows genuflect.
But farmers must look also with a future eye
See the great trunk lying on the ground
And the scattered sheep searching for shelter in vain
The wise farmer plants a seedling for that day.