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The Slacker Need Not Apologize
ACT I
(oak to willow)
It's I, your gnarled accuser, here to scold.
What REALLY do you know of earth and sky?
Which different raindrops can you classify?
How many kinds of dung identify?
From too much staring at the shapes of winds,
You're blinder than a stump to honest mold,
Gall, mildew, all true tree-reality.
Mad bird-cursed shaker of obstreperous crest,
Listening as if to song yet bare of nest,
Roost only of mist from whom all wings take wing:
Even our God, the Weather, you deny;
You blossom when you feel like blossoming,
In a blasphemingly eternal spring.
We have a word for such un-treelike stunts.