This Old Dead Pine
A story in four sonnets
Spirit spoke to the rest of the forest,
Tiny roots nearby mycelial strand,
Communicating to others cherished,
In a way not detectable by man.
“I was the tallest tree in this wood lot,”
“Two hundred years old, two hundred feet tall,”
“Roots that did lie no more deep than they ought,”
“Living light on the land, protected all.”
Four spring-born oaks cried out still more loudly
“One hundred forty-five years and feet tall.”
“Tallest old pine, you wear your age proudly,”
“But you’ve been dead for years, if we recall.”
“You’ve no life without me,” said the dead pine,
“Now is all that exists,” these oaks did whine.
“Humans somehow missed me,” said the dead pine,
“Actually, I’m pretty darn sure, I,”
“Outsmarted them, yes, that’s how I’d define,”
“This fact that I lived until I did die.”
