I missed the forest for a tree, they said,
so I stepped out to survey the whole scene.
The emerald ocean gleamed with such prospects
I blinked–lost sight of what made that tree unique.
Seemed I could lean against another tree
and carve my name into its flesh until
stripped bare, then climb a fresher one now bloomed
with daisies, leave when they started to wilt.
When Autumn came, I found the reason why
my oak stood tallest among trees. The gleam
enthralling me lost glamour, fading with
the summer, but she remained evergreen
no matter the distance of the sun. I now
wander the wilderness in search of her
jaded glow but only see browner plains.
Perhaps I already plucked her bare too.