I saw the irony in my somber oak tree,
for strangled it was in a luscious vine,
wound around so tight for 20 years long
that nothing could them separate entire
like two mad lovers in a death wish embrace.
And then, driven by my wish to save the
smothered tree, like freeing a python from
its prey, I took to the vine with saw and
force till the vine was left to wither alone on
the tree and I was satisfied with my saving work.
But come the spring and expectation of green,
the tree burst not forth, and I stared at my
macabre neat handiwork and realised in disgust
the irony of the fact that I had full killed the
very soul that had kept the tree alive and well.