Old trees

Diverting wisps of morning fog
ominous shadows or’ dampened bog
around them only whispering trees
swaying gladly in a summer breeze

Foliage unleashed against chanceless bonds
like children’s cotton candy wands
spin and churn up freshened soil
ride the raging charging toil

But the still ones stand like frozen towers
like jail cell bars, well known sorrows
Centurion guards with secrets kept
as if never they laughed, never they wept

Despised, aloof and stoic sages
old ink dried on yesterday’s pages
Sawdust waits in a woodpecker hole
for the wind to charge it’s daily toll

But when winter strikes on falcon wing
And kills every unprotected thing
never a fortress more safe or sound
for the squirrel, raccoon could ever be found

Like castles built on lookout peeks
are guarded havens where the fortunate sleep,
so stands the old oak in green fungus spores
overlooking the snow-covered forest floor
and welcoming the needy and the desperately poor.

John Flynt
1113 Blakel
Ashdown, AR 71822