The Withered Branch
Do not weep for me my dying Oak,
For I still stand tall among the trees.
Do not be dismayed that I tilt and bend,
For I remain strong among my peers.
Yea, though I have but a withered form,
There is strength within my marrow.
Seek my council, Let me shadow thy ears,
For within age, there grows wisdom.
Let me be thy mentor, circle me with thy branches,
For within these feeble limbs, there grows knowledge.
Use me, grow new branches from MY infirmity,
And forever seek the Call of Nature’s Wisdom.