OAK
Drop your leaves for now. Stand alone in the cold, squirrels sheltering in your hollows.
Under your feet, forgotten acorns already swell, each holding your pattern encased.
Length of day, strength of sun, depth of rain, the air,
the axe, your future contingent on the world.
Mary F. C. Pratt
SourceLicence:CC BY-SA 3.0