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.
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