Ode to the Crooked Tree
(and its army of leaves)

Whose mighty body has not yet fallen
Though limbs and leaves are dangling,
Bowed over by the wind.

Oh, praise thou who has the strength
To endure this world of people a bit
Longer even though nature calls thou
Back with outstretched arms.

Praise thou who fights to never be felled
By a man, and so never will be felled but
By natural causes.

Though planes rattle thy branches,
Casting their sonic booms through the
Earth into those wriggling roots,
Still the crooked tree stands.

Though wrecking teams make paper
Signatures to ensure your future grave,
Though millions of thy brothers fall
This way, you still stand tall,

Laughing in the face of humanity.

11/22/2005

Author's Note: My one experiment with Transcendentalism, in junior year of high school.

Posted on 11/22/2005
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