The Mighty Oak
Blistering heat scorches my silhouette as I cower behind the mighty oak.
His limbs frantically churn outward to absorb the blast.
Martyrdom is his destiny,
I am the cause.
The birds howl amongst themselves-
Marveling at his bravery.
Ephemeral Eulogies bound to become,
No possible way the oak could stand against the mighty sun.
Yet, against all the odds- the oak stands true.
Glaring back at the sun- and sky, so blue.
Blades of grass sway in disbelief.
Worms wriggle to the surface- weary of the commotion.
The oak stands mighty- need no words he say.
No eulogies shall be crafted for him this day-