Two Trees

I was walking though the woods, near my family's home in Southwest Washington, when I discovered a beautiful, old tree. I have no idea what type it was, nor quite how old, but it was almost entirely bare of leaves, and there was hardly a straight line to be seen on it. It was bent over at a sharp angle, and beneath it, growing through its thick branches, was a much younger tree, which is probably the only reason it was still standing at all.

Two Trees

There is a tree, not far from here;

its stature, lower press,

is labored by a long career

of weary wilderness.

No stately back nor seasoned crown,

no callow consecrate

establishes its bearing down,

when burdened by the weight

of limbs divested, twist they so

that liveliness, alone,

declines the scattered buddings grow

and proves a weaker bone.

Its final strength, upon the eve

of fell majority,

is taken from the buttress heave

of this, a younger tree,

that holds the old man up, aloft,

and supplements the might

the other lost, as age is oft;

but here, the two have height.