As lifeblood drains and dries in aged veins,
as breaths become compressed in heaving breasts,
when racing steps slow down to stumbled strains,
can aching hearts respond to love’s requests?
As sturdy oaks dry up each year in sleep,
leaves, trampled dead mementos that abound,
with branches drooping, bark encircling, deep
distressed, lie caskets strewn upon the ground.
Each Spring the beat of Nature’s loving hearts
awakens lifeless creatures, nectar, sweet,
recoursing though their souls as death departs
to let love live and let new lovers meet.
You are the Spring that keeps new life in me
As I, your love, remain your oaken tree.
Lorenzo Costigliolo
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-oak-sonnet-12/
