Live Oak Poem by Barry Middleton

As woods surrender to the frost,
there is a tree that won't let go.

The live oak tightly holds its crown;
it knows a wish, men wish to know.

And yet this false and lasting green
is costume and a bold deceit.

Eternal life is quaint disguise,
audacious in its vain conceit.

Although the live oak clings to it,
I know its life comes to an end.

And one by one its acorns fall;
its leaves are scattered by the wind.

Thus men are so like evergreens,
defiant till a final spring.

But seasons or the woodsman's axe,
at last must garner everything.