A cane of oak
An oak tree unknowingly
made an oaken cane for me
The tree guy cut it down
and leaned it by my door
For months it stood entombed in bark
til I with spokeshave set it free
A crooked bit of wood but strong
The ideal staff to lean upon & cudgel if need be
To beat a path to afterlife
Where from this veil of tears I’m free
