Half a Century
Half a Century
Fifty is not old if you are a tree and the oak tree holds acorns
already planted in waiting for the wheel of life to continue in
sentient beings on time weathered paths one step at a time
I used to be the little child with budding flowers spreading
branches wings for leaves and restless roots pruned with giant
secateurs of what the tempest’s norms held in store for growth
Youth no opprobrium no graceless ignominy’s dishonour but a
rebellious tentative and necessary premise for fulfilment and still
today mere age is no achievement and tree rings not a triumph
At times the reaper has ignored the oak tree fruit and had a go
with ropes and chainsaw poisoned water nails in bark and acid
rain and yet this seasoned sapling stands its tiny ground in time
It is a tree because of branches and without them it is just a stake
some of them withered some are supple like the child I used to be
and somewhere in boughs and twiglets lies the youth of ageing life
Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2017
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