There is an old oak which sits formidably
Upon a tangle of spindly wooden arms
Which reach above from the grave
In the middle of a field
Otherwise totally barren.

The sun casts a shadow across the land
And just before it reaches its highest point
The shadow shows an unreflective image
Of a tree full of foliage.

At noon the shadow sinks into the earth
But as the hours pass, a new image occurs
Just as deceptive as the first,
Whereupon you will see the tree’s branches dead.

Whispers that the devil’s curse
Effects that half which so strangely
Refuses to mirror the other
Traverses between the two hills
Which make this town a valley.

It was the man who made his path
By endearing the hearts of the people
Who did see at this place
The last image which was burned into his cornea
Never to be seen.

No one could have guessed
That such a caring man
Was not the image he himself projected,
But it is the silent tears of an aching woman
Which would expose the inner soul.

For a time there was no sign
Except the scar which traced the woman’s face
From each tear duct
To the softened line of her jaw.

It was after the children had headed back
From their school houses
When she walked with light heart
Across the field, and headed home

As her mind considered the feeling of the breeze,
The freshness of a new school year,
The rich golden color
Which crowned the intricate web of branches above,
She was taken by surprise.

A pool of crimson covered the ground
In the shade of the oak tree
Which after the dry summer season
Quenched its thirst

The day following, the traveler was seen
Whistling as he walked
Across the field, with his belongings in hand
Stopping to admire the color which contrasted
Perfectly against the blue sky.

With a satisfied air, he left
Continuing in the direction of his original path
When suddenly, he stopped –
As did the mechanism within his ribcage
Which counted the seconds of life left.

When the spring season returned,
The tree no longer contrasted the sky
In all its glory, for one side no longer grew
And in the wind, the people fantasized visions
Of a man hanging from the southern limb.