Poem: The Mighty Oak

The Mighty Oak

The woman’s legs
are like tree trunks.
She would hate the
comparison.
She wants lets like
a fresh sapling.
She wants to stay
young forever,
but she cannot.
She doesn’t see
the new beauty,
that those legs that
are like tree trunks
have provided
the support for
generations—
for her children
and grandchildren—
that it is her
worry-worn face
set to the wind
that has given
food and shelter,
care and comfort,
to those she loves.
This is not the
work of saplings.
This is the work
of mighty oaks
that point the way
toward the heavens.

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