The Hollow Oak Poem by Mark Sauer

We are miscarried embryos of Eve
Aborted into this limbo of Earth,
Who plant that garden we never dwelt in
On the ground we strike in falling to birth.
That plot is made Eden, by the portal
That gaped just there, dropping us on cold earth.
Paradise shined where we became mortal,
And cast the spell of Home. By that hearth
We belong. Remembering, we begin
To till, until once more it's time to leave.

My garden was the Hollow Oak, the Pool,
And the Witches Wood, where we would meet
To plot our vast adventurings each dawn.
We were a gallant company, and sweet
It was to stalk the serpents, or to quest
For magic stones, or dare a hero's feat.
After, at the Hollow Oak we would rest
At the Earth's heart, pondering its slow beat.
Long years later I returned… All was gone.
Angel with flaming sword would be less cruel.