Two Oak Trees

A poem

Between you two,
Mountain Oak
and Valley Oak,
I sit in the middle,
and see little
in your rippled
bark that stands apart.
In the eyes of many,
you may as well
drop your names, for
as the young beauty
on the balcony once said,
what’s in a name?
Indeed it would seem
you should be deemed
only as oaks.
But my eye cannot
help noting your
leaves and seeds –
greatly similar, yet
with apparent
variation in shape
and shades of green.

No less do you oaks
both have the same
stem, yet with
diverging branches.
You, Mountain,
are looked up to
on your rocky pedestal,
eyes praising you
for your show of
strength, thus gifting
you the most chops
for their cottages
and shops.
And you, Valley –
your softer ground
disallows a proud
standing for long,
though when you do,
you stand tall
in the swamp.
Even you at times
are not spared the ax
for the campfire.

From acorn to tree
to rotted stump,
the inner beings
that create you,
the messages
immersed in them
that make you
may have different
words, but those
words are of the
same number.
They write that
Mountain’s leaves
are darker and
wider and their
acorns smaller,
but that you
two oaks may bear
seeds together;
that you are of the
same scroll.

Knowing this,
need we nullify
your names?
They are as
fleeting as the
snow on an
April day, but
like the colors
of the birds that
sit on your limb,
they are a window
to the beauty
of your diversity.
I should be
afraid if my eyes
give false testimony
of its absence.
How then can I
trust, as I
travel the trail,
that they guide
me to the good path?

You, Mountain Oak
and Valley Oak,
have different stories
but as I sit
between you,
at the bottom
of the incline that
joins you,
I see that you
both are my friends,
shielding me with
your shade from
the sheer, searing
sun in the sky.