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The Oak From tiny Acorn, it began; Nourished so blindly By the Gardner Grand. Yet, it thrived and stretched To break ground, finally bursting Through the parched surfaces etched Where 100 years good, five thirsting From unrelenting sun making oak wretched Until seasons changed and rain was fetched. Much activity occurred around it’s spot, What with squirrels gathering and a tot That built a tree house on broken arm While father worked the family farm. Such was the oak in little harm. It survived two hurricanes but, Alas, one lightening bolt Ripped open gut With megavolt In dying jolt That stripped Layer dripped In oozing sap Depriving cap Of nourishment And, so, meant A silent death Lacking breath To vitalize it So it died bit By bit until a Stump in decay Was it one day. The last to die, were roots Which layed beneath the surface grim Unable to breathe the oak’s headless boots Could not continue very much longer along cliff’s rim Until they, too entered dim. |
Additional Notes:
This is the earliest example of my "imaged" poems, formed in my early period, some twenty odd years ago.
Bobby T.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-02-25 21:14:26
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.26316
An interesting shaped poem with rhyme, too! I think the rhymes seem a little forced at times, e.g.
Through the parched surfaces etched
Where 100 years good, five thirsting
From unrelenting sun making oak wretched - [esp. here, but it ain't that bad]
Until seasons changed and rain was fetched.
Was it one day. - [I'm not sure this is needed. Why not "It was one day"? Another very minor detail]
The pausing in the roots works very well. I enjoyed this. Share more!