When It Is All Too Much


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.