Underneath the Oak Leaves
On the coldest noon of fall,
I will gather thoughts below the old oak tree.
a plane will fly by,
and the autumn leaves will fall gracefully as can be.
There will be an overhead eagle, waiting for prey.
A lonely sparrow fleeting away?
The dark grey clouds, threatening to litter the ground with rain.
The universe can be mad, I've learned, yet the greatest
could never build something more complex and beautiful.
But, never have I felt so
vulnerable and insignificant,
than sitting alone below the great oak tree.
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