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Oak(s)
Some greens afraid of sunlight
Cascading themselves blue
Making note and taking vibrancy
As a line to speak on cue
They're so scared of burning novas
That they bask beneath the shade
And despite their sorry state of root
They'll still gloat and serenade
Their tortured ways and subtle stings
Will dilute their lofted glow
And when their conscious comes to call
They'll deny them all they know
So sweet and quiet majesty
Of use to only they
They fear the loss of rejected pause
And proceed to walk away
But that last minute reveals the oak
Hiding in their strands
Who's grown a thousand three feet tall
And decides to take a chance
He lumbers toward the warmest reach
Upon his manic vines
And upon descent, he's come to find
He can finally feel alive
He'll grow so old and dwarf them all
His family in the sticks
But where they fear he's done so well
And he'll fall without his wits
Perhaps he'll turn to stone and stand
For an eternity or more
But for now he'll just laugh it off
While embracing what's in store.
