How patient must I be to be
as patient as the tree ‘fore me.
He stands and stares and doesn’t care
(it seems) that I must move and it behooves me to say
his patience is trying mine.
I’ll stand here too and sometimes bend a little
Or thrash about or out and out scream at passersby,
But no, it’s not the same for me, tree.
I cannot spend one hundred years like you
To do nothing but defend myself,
Avenge myself, sleep and wake and never delve
Into other occupations;
I haven’t the patience or inclinations
Or subtle consternations as you.
Yet you’re magnificent and I am not
And ought to be so much more for my troubles.
I saw an elderly couple (almost as old as you)
Stop beneath your belly to admire your magnificence.
I desire of it,
Sit and stare and tire of it,
For I can’t ever hope to be
As great as ever you, old tree.