OCR Text |
Show •Apuffaljp'se of a Dead Oak Axed in the Midwest Axing the ancient oak, long dead-- A greyness split and harrowing its fretted limbs Across their eastern view--the farmer sighed, Wide earthspun hands clenched firmly Round the handle long eroded to his grip. After all, it had "obscured" the eastern view For years, the old man thought, Grey sleeves, dull hue of wiry hair, Flung back to cling to dripping arms, Still strong-but very tired now, he thought. But, after all, his own grey bark Had grown near brittle as this treeJ He'd even pled-when she'd enjoined The felling of its leaden bulk That had "obscured" the eastern view for years - "Who might be next to fall?" Finally (a whirring groan) The great tree fell, twice crashed Across the twig-strewn lawn, was still. The farmer slumped, as though an ancient trellis Had been stripped, before the stump. Below him on the rock-bound earth, The bark-scales seemed to writhe (Among the beach-pale bed of chips) The silent twisting agony of fish; Below him on the changeless rock-bound earth He'd tilled for years. And now blurred stare, come back from distance Very near, strayed to where the age-rings Broke a ripple in his eyes ... All life-all energy-flows out, He knew like an awakening, All substance ebbing slowly from the core ... All youth-the glistening wet-born calf, a child Buried sweetly in the black cave of a barn, ^ , The endless green-winged rustle of the gold, ^^unreapable/ corn, |