So Speaketh the Old Oak

The sun goes, but leaves its shadows behind;

The majestic oak denuded, glowering  

Towards the half-armed moon, seemed more vulnerable, 

Susceptible to the advancing tide of age.

When I bent in to dig, score the noble

Bark to commemorate my own rite of passage,

I swear I heard the old trunk speak:

‘Is this true, or factitious …

Another of those passing dalliances …’

And there, hunkered in the gloam, my first real lesson

About love, the permanency of a scar,

Raised more questions than I’d ever considered or

Knew I needed to answer. A black heart, it seemed,

Couldn’t justify carving Love lightly.

Ken e Bujold 

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

I have always found the oak to be majestic, a stoic towering giant that perfected the nature of tire swings in childhood memories. Or perhaps the initials we carved into the bark with a promise of love, as you so well penned it, "the permanency of a scar." Very impressive. A passing dalliance would not define what you've masterfully written here, Ken. A commemoration to the advancing tide of age, indeed!