An Oak

Storms slug its head,
Its shoulders sag,
Its beard is shorn
Upon the crag.

In dawns and dusks
Its spine alone
Keeps it erect
Like Doric stone.

A squash grows up
At a summer's stroke;
An age wears out
To make an oak.

- Melvin Tolson -

background and graphics by Mary Stephens
vintage graphic: unknown source
4/11/2022