POEM

Should it be a tree, drawing

Moist life from a mind’s

Tilth of humus and sediment?

Or like a beast, vividly

Swerving and glancing, fleetingly

Glimpsed in the dappled forest?

Or crisp, and uniform,

Each facet aureate,

And polished to conform?

Choose for yourself. I

Will not complain. Yet you

Can tell what I root for.

So - what do you choose?