To the Mighty Oak

Oh, mighty oak...

You have dwelt in my yard for longer than I have lived.

Generations have gazed in awe at your stature,

your unyielding presence.



I, for one, am no longer impressed.

While I can agree that you are strong,

you are large,

you are unmoving,

and you provide the promise of shade in summer,

the promise of shelter in rain,

the promise of a burst of color in the dreariest of months;

I am through with you.

For you bring more struggle than joy.

You bring more worry than encouragement.

While your boughs seem mighty,

in winter I see them heaped with heavy burden.

You stand, resolutely lifting mounds of snow.

My home, next to you, feels threatened.

In any moment, the strength you display may give way,

allowing that which would have gently caressed

to careen

to cascade in a thunderous roar

upon those I love most.

Your mighty roots, though deep,

have eroded life around you.

Moss survives at you feet,

permitting the soil to sponge

to slip

and we to spill.

I fear, someday, even you to spill

as the sponge you have created

gives way.

Your leaves do shade in summer.

For a few months

from June 'til September,

I find solace in your shade;

only to look up and know that

every

leaf

will soon blanket my labor

and cause even more

from October

until

May.

I see the happy vermin

scurry in your branches.

They enjoy the nuts

you bear

which I

can not stomach.

The rodents enjoy the bounty

and then deposit the remains

in my gutters

flooding my roof

challenging the solace of my castle.

I do feel

someday soon

I will rejoice

when you are reduced

to wood

for my fire.