OAK

Shorn of all courage, in grief to
thee I wander. Soul ripped asunder,
body shattered,
in thy verduous shadows I sweet sanctuary seek.

Recumbent, I implore thy gnarled roots vouchsafe anchor,
imbue me with thine enduring might.
Stalwart would I be
as thou, unyielding when life's storms bludgeon and buffet.

Soft murmurst thou, soothing speakest of bygone days, of Epirus,
his rustling leaves Zeus' divine pronouncements, of Thor's own sacred
giant,
of Druids swaying 'neath thy golden catkins.

Hither rooted, e'er forbearing, tidings thou attendest from distant lands.
Langourous caresseth the wind thy branches, whispereth messages of
hope, airs of reverence singeth.

Writhen arms outspread, in evergreen embrace enfoldest thou this
forlorn child, comfortest my supine form,
my wounded spirit healst.

Deep I drink of thy
reviving bounty.

Purged of pain,

my soul cleansed,

at thy feet

am I reborn.

© Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image: OAKWOOD
Artist: Ivan Shishkin
Source: www.liveinternet.ru