Sunday, February 21, 2016
A Giant Oak Protects Her Brood in Late Winter
by Jim Rapp
A giant oak stands still in a field of snow,
still clinging, fists full, to wind torn rattling leaves.
Hush wind, be still; you'll not be able to blow
them from stock-still branches till she gives them leave.
You have enlisted rain, ice and snow and still
she clasps her golden brood – still in your stillness,
clattering in your fierceness – still ever will
she still them till spring air has lost its chillness.