Oak

Oak

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.

Fine.

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.