Tumbledown

Tumbledown

Ancient oak

Withered dried

Old prune skin

Splayed brazen branches

Swing low

Sweet chariot

Blinded by the light

Searing through the canopy

Prickling the skin

Even though it is the

Dying of the day

It is a vantage point

This grumpy old crone

Twisted and gnarled

Her spine bent against

The prevailing wind

Has stood the pain

Of winter this many

A long year

And will stand many more

A queen she is

Royally blooded in lineage

She is a regal protector

Tired though as may be

Leaves still cover

Her dignity

Acorns will fall

There is a profusion of life

Around and within

A place where

So many stories began

She is their keeper

Quietly if you but listen

There is magic in the telling

What would we do

Should she fail

In her deliverance

Better light will be cast

Into the room

A brightness of

Even shadow

In the haze of an afternoon

But at what cost

There is a darkness

In destruction

More than a tree

Will be lost

Without natural wonders

As reminders of

What it means to be

We are baseless

Without spirit

Soul free.