Stands a tall and ancient tree.
All other vegetation has been razed
For miles around,
And there is nothing left but soft, tilled dirt,
Lapping up to its roots
Like the waves of the endless Pacific
Upon a distant island.
It stands witness to ages passed,
To combines and teams of oxen,
To soybeans and wheat,
To brake and briar patch,
To elm and paw paw,
To wolf and bear,
To a thousand sapling children who never survived
The foot of farmer.
Its branches hang in weary victory,
Shadowing the dead who rest beneath.
Its roots go deep,
Twisted, sinewy veins,
Who dig, down to draw blood
From the earth,
As soft buds emerge from stony branches
To persist.
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