One of the first pieces I ever wrote. Remedial, to be sure, but I remember it warmly. Any comments...
In a small lea of clover and grass together they did rise,
Protecting each other, watching time pass while reaching for the sky.
An innocent child, a grand matriarch were standing side by side,
Roots intertwined, and covered with bark, and branches spanning wide.
Symbols of life in a wondrous glade, the stood there on that day
Offering shelter and deepening shade. No creature turned away.
But more than a home for the life of the wood, they offered consummate love.
For they were all that was right and good, pure as the passing dove.
A supple young sapling, so green and so new, child of the fruit of the one
Who covered the infant, allowed her to grow in shadow and free from the sun.
A mighty old oak who waved when she spoke as wind brushed leaf with a kiss.
The grand matriarch whose aged bark encompassed the feeling of bliss.
They stood there and grew in magnificent view of a beautiful vista of land.
They stood there, they grew, and both of them knew that together they made a fine stand.
They stood there enjoying the rays of the sun that touched them with casual warmth.
They stood there together, until on the day that there came a most furious storm.
It rose unexpected, borne of the air and the land, and it grew by the hour.
From far away distance it stayed until when it moved silent, and awesome, great power.
It moved on that day in an awesome display of its might as it scoured the land.
The slumbering giant awakened and came like the strike from the mightiest hand.
With hailstones it played at the casual glade, with tempest the land was trod
With thunderous echo, bolts of pure light, and wind that howled fury of gods.
A cloud that was thick and heavy and black and green and chalky like bone.
A storm, unrelenting, in fearsome attack, a belly as solid as stone.
But soon, and at last, the mighty storm passed. The rays of the sun warmed the ground,
And sparkled in grace at the very same place, but the trees could no longer be found.
The sapling was gone, the oak disappeared, and for neither remained not a trace.
But one could now see that the marks of the tree had been etched, like a scar, on this place.
Where once they had stood in the elegant wood, the remnant of shade was now gone,
But, left in its place, in its rampaging pace, the storm had left meadow alone.
Where once they had stood in the elegant wood no more was there tree, leaf or twig.
For, now, in their place, there was only the space of two holes, one tiny, one big.
Pits of despair, now robbed and left bare of the roots where they'd stood side by side,
A cavernous maw, and the smallest of all, and any who saw it had cried.
Left there on that day, and still there, some say, in that meadow of clover and grass;
Two pits in the ground. To look there it's found, two seedlings have sprouted at last.
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