The Oak and the Vine

Boast again thy quick ascent 

Against the Oak’s slow rise

Creeping up his branches

Reaching towards the skies

Laughing while you choke his limbs

All his strength deride

Block the sun from his own leaves

And soak it up with pride

Mock his knots--belittle

His fat, impotent girth

But how surely will his demise 

Bring you down to earth

For you will crawl along the ground

Trampled under foot

Because you have no patience

But sparse and shallow root

Boast again thy numbered days

Exalted thyself above

The wisdom rings which seasons grant

Are not in thee nor love