Oh Sage Osage
Aged Osage;
twisting, turning,
tentacled specter of the soil;
centuries of thrills, you have seen.
Gnarly old fingers,
still reach for brother sun’s embrace
and you share your elation freely.
Stories told in limb and bough,
are road maps through time;
I see that history,
can hide nothing from you.
I listen to your whispers;
I hear your songs,
on the tempestuous winds.
What a study in tolerance you are!
Arthritis specter in the moonlight;
Story teller of old;
I visit and am inspired.
Trees, like humans, have wisdom to share
and tell their stories to those,
willing to listen and learn.
An education is found in every tiny seed.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015
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