MAN AND TREE

Study this man; he is older than the tree
That lays its gnarled hand on his meagre shoulder,
And even as wrinkled, for the bladed wind
Ploughs up the surface, as the blood runs colder.
Look at his eyes, that are colourless as rain,
Yet hard and clear, knotted by years of pain.

Look at this locks, that the chill wind has left
With scant reluctance for the sun to bleach.
Notice his mouth and the dry,bird-like tongue,
That flutters and fails at the cracked door of his lips,
Dumb now and sapless? Yet this man can teach,
Even as an oak tree when its leaves are shed,
More in old silence than in youthful song.