Poem: Musing Oak

Acorns and Oak (Moku Hanga)

With sedulous care

I stopped to stare

At the details of the Oak;

The other people

Just hurried by

‘Twas lost on busy folk.

Their haste,

Such waste,

Had blinded them

To this miracle in wood,

But I stood still

To drink it in

As any poet would.

From little acorns

Might Oak Trees grow

Just like a thought given form;

So I returned

To pencil and paper

And thus this poem was born.

First pause for thought,

Breathe deep, inspire,

Your muse will kiss your inner eye

Then move your hand

And words will flow

With a heartfelt, satisfied sigh.

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