Uprooted to Full Avail

Poetry David Grubb

Cumberland, Maine, USA

The bird, so tiny, lit upon my knee He tweeted and chirped as if agitated How hard would it be to be a tree? Something an acorn and time created

As the little creature eyed me up and down And continued to thrash me with whistles My mind, thoughts, and vision began to drown In the possibilities of rising up from just thistles

To become an ingenious and noble old oak In a grove of ten trillion other species like me Would surely be a far, far better stroke Than being a part of this hot blooded soiree

I would always stand tall, true, and proud Withering everything they could throw my way My leaves would flutter and splay even in the darkest cloud While each and every day would be my greatest day

For I am a tree with no worries or care My thoughts would never be tormented or forlorn I’d always be good for the wash and wear Even when the weather was most wickedly stubborn

The sun would be my sustainer The ground my fornicator The wind my articulator The rain...ah the rain...my instigator

I’d live on for more than a thousand years Deep in a forest of long lost old Never knowing all these mortal fears Just passing my time listening to all that was told To wither out one more season Or better yet forget all that And give me life of man’s plat

I’d live it better than he ever could I’d live it without that hardness of wood For once he’d see that life lived so free Maybe he’d even sense the nature of a tree

Would I take back that sordid life of shame? Or would I keep my regal wooden name? I figure there’s no sense to go back to man For the bird on my bough has the better plan

I’ll give out the breath they need to breathe Then I let all my leaves wither and run free I’ve no notion to let this fine feathered friend To die and go onto his own splendorous end

For hear me now oh great lord of all that lives I’m the fantastic old oak tree that has no sieves The solid massive trunk, top, and limbs you created That small little devil of an acorn you once berated

So then it ends in the way all great dilemmas do I chose the path that let me grow till I was through It was only at the end while they hewed me down That the small finch trilled about my gilded crown

Death came to the man in the tree Just as sure as the tree became me We embraced it as our god given right We embraced it for the length of night

For heaven’s sake I became the life of tree To live a life of man that was ever so free