I go to the woods when it is all too much
for me. The trees seem like they know the way,
the secret to living forever. They hold such
serenity in sturdy trunk, in sway-
ing branch. They whisper tales of long-gone storms
that raked their limbs, but see — they are still here,
their feet immersed in soil. The patient worms
have taken leaves that fell, the dry and sere,
and made them live again. So when I fall,
I hope the stars may testify my heart
was mostly still and sure; I heard the call
to battle fair, and played my minor part —
so earned a resting place in leafy hall.
To this I dedicate my life, my soul, my art.
This one’s for all the social justice warriors out there.