The Tree Man

When I was young in the Golden Days

My father said to me

"There is no other greater thing

Than the old oak tree

His wisdom spreads across the wood

His branches reach to you

His voice is like one floating leaf

His roots grow where good has stood

So, my dear, do you see? That tree

across the lawn? His bark so rough to

baby skin, but leaf soft as a fawn.

Some day, my love, he'll speak to you,

but until that day is near

you must save his kin, for you see, my dear,

he sheds a single tear."

I saw the face, the weathered eyes, hammered

on so long ago.

The perfect mouth, shaped like a bird, that called me heart

like so

That day so far into my past, my father had come home

He hammered on that fateful mask, to that oak that stood alone.

"His kin, my love, are dying. The world chops them in two.

Just one thing you must do for them, for they have done much for you."

I see now what my father meant.

What our world has left behind.

And all of you, dear readers, must open your weary eyes.

Says the Tree Man with the face of clay:

"Too long have we been blind."