An Oak
I have never seen a living thing
That looked so very dead--
Lacking elegance and color,
Seeming dolorous, instead.
And its limbs were much distorted,
Like an old, arthritic hand,
As it leaned there, hunched and crooked,
As if it hurt to stand.
But while it had the look of death
It bestowed the coolest shade,
Leaving me to wonder why...
This God so oddly made?
Copyright © Meldin Merrill | Year Posted 2008
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