I Was a Great Oak Once

I was a great Oak once
rooted deep in the good earth
a pillar of society,
or perhaps a giant Sequoia,
a viridescent sentinel, listening
to small quakes in the silence,
I am much less now,
fodder and
kindling wood,
little branches
of broken tomes,
a weary traveler
with moss on my back
yearning for home,
brightly burning
in a moment
between the North Wind
and the Sun.