Behind our house, out in a field

An aging oak its shade doth yield

Providing succor from the sun

Unaware what has begun

Over the trunk a dense vine grew

Ascending till it’s out of view

Strangling foliage in its wake

The life within, its goal to take

I paused, but moved about each day

Content to pass the other way

Till conscience bid me cause to peak

On this arboreal mystique

I found in sweltering August heat

Two elders fast upon the feat

In mortal battle with the vine

Its massive grip, a combat line

I joined the task with eager hands

To rid the straggling cord that spans

In stems thick as a garden hose

Set free, so tender roots expose

Six more working hands joined in

Toiling round the thickening skin

Cutting away the chains that bound

Till all the earth with vines surround

The tree it spoke in sighed relief

Aghast, without a true belief

That mortal men would thus engage

To free it from it’s garrote cage

Free to spread full wide the arms

Attesting to its woodland charms

Free for all the word to see

This marvelous oaken majesty—

Would we in all our years uncloak

Discharge the vines that round us yoke

To rise anew, our fears to cease

From binding fetters, thus release

                                                            Alyce Schmidt