Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Quercus Suber

wine trapped by cork,
like geyser springing from the deep
in fire and fury, rebukes
in haughty narcissism,
--now resting in a silver chalice--
“how dare you seal me
for so long,
you, such a small thing!”
and the cork from the oak
replies, “you make more noise
from your fluid mouth than mind,
in the theatrics of dim deficiency
your title is a grant,
mine is inheritance”
and the cork shrugs off the wine
thinking how its blush resembles
snooty maple’s pomegranate-red foliage
shedding to the ground, come winter,
and how the evergreen cork-oaks rise
to the sun, in mystical tradition
to produce bark nonstop
and dream of eternity

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Prompt: tree(s)