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More Than A Lifetime
Said the blooming willow, to the fallen tree,
Can’t help but wonder about you and me,
Thriving and tall, as I look below,
I empathize with a fallen fellow,
My abundant leaves casting a shadow,
My opulent branches spread the glee,
I tipple the mist from the roaring sea,
Summative fragrance I stand to be,
To breezes that are roaming free.
I bring the news of callow spring,
I’m home to nesting birds that sing,
A jumping board to test their wing,
Amid my branches spiders swing,
The hunted prey to web they cling,
At my feet stand lovers who fling.
Ostentation my claim to fame,
Burgeon and flourish my middle name,
I put the dead trees all to shame,
Without my vivid regal frame,
The meadows will not be the same.
But a dead tree is corium for flea,
Sown with truffle, covered in debris,
Enthralled with ants, a vermin spree,
Poor existence, from what I can see,
A boring life, your dilatory plea,
A stumbling timber, is all you are,
Even if rolled, you can’t go far.
Said the "fallen", to willow tree,
You are in delusion, I am afraid,
Your flaunting has you betrayed,
Without the water you’d be decayed,
Without the sun your colors allayed,
All you give is a spot of shade,
Even that, in fall will fade.
You bend the way the wind will blow,
Moonshine makes your silhouette glow,
You lose your luster in winter snow,
Then you are home to a lonely crow,
And when you join the ageless row,
Different being you will endow,
Many begets you will bestow.
Beyond the forest of living thing,
The sky is blue, the angels sing,
Blessing of life is eternal spring,
And many lives to earth we bring.
My stories of arid living;
When cut to shapely hammer sling,
I strike the notes of music string,
Bowed to angle I bore the wind,
Seamen to their shore I will bring.
Truss the mast, I pierce the air,
Romantic fires, I set on flare,
In gaunt layers I form a cello,
I frame the paintings of Angelo.
They hew my skin to a slender piece,
And make a cork with a tender crease,
I travel the world in bottles of wine,
Sit on the tables with lovers who dine.
A roofing lumber, I will be,
To cherished dwelling, I hold the key,
Parched and hollow, a nest for bee,
When cut to smoothness of the keel,
I float the surface of the sea.
And when to depth of earth I sink,
The marching band will start to sing,
I will be carried on their wing,
A sarcophagus to a queen,
I’ll be the casket to a king.
~ Sharky ~
© 1998 Sharky (All rights reserved)
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