Once it is calm,
the gardener points out a large oak off the path.
THE VERY OLD MAN
The rocker creaks on the uneven porch slats.
He has waited so many years --
Six feet across at the breast
Stands one of the oldest oaks
I have met in this place.
He has seen so far beyond --
Secreted in the emeralds
Among the willows and brooks
Beryl gleams in the polishing rain.
He reminds me of the gods I knew --
When I was still an unformed child
They would pick me up on their shoulders
Weathered and unwearied by the winds.
I greet him, as I used to greet them,
And let him return to his rocking.