Geoffrey Brock

The Fallen Oak

Where shade was, now the dead oak lies,
no longer vying with the winds.
Folks say: Now I see -- how tall it was!

Here and there spring nests hang down
from the fallen oak's fallen crown.
Folks say: Now I see -- how good it was!

Everyone praising, everyone cutting.
At dusk, they take their heavy bundles.
In the air, a cry... a blackcap's cry...

it seeks a nest it will not find.

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