How strange, these days,
When men and trees alike
Shed their mane.
How strange are we,
Who flee from stone,
Blind to what endures.
How beautiful the spruce
That leans into winter,
Proud of another ring.
Light are the limbs of the sapling,
Yet steadfast stands
The trunk of the oak.
Aug 28, 2025
Aug 28, 2025 at 2:33 PM UTC
How strange, these days,
When men and trees alike
Shed their mane.
How strange are we,
Who flee from stone,
Blind to what endures.
How beautiful the spruce
That leans into winter,
Proud of another ring.
Light are the limbs of the sapling,
Yet steadfast stands
The trunk of the oak.