In the meadow
of the forest
Where the wild
wood thrushes flew
There a seed
of Osage Orange
Felt the rain and sun
and grew.In the city
of the people
Mid the sound
of bell & horn
Yet another child
a boy
Into the world of men
was born.
Drawing life
from sun to branch
'Neath its canopy
of blue
As it was not
overshadowed
Straight and true
the Osage grew.
In the boy's
simple manners
Slowly sensing
ancient ways
Shielded by
the power of truth
He slipped unfettered
through the maze.
When at last
he found the meadow
In an instant
did he know
Of the power
that now was his
And from the Osage
made his bow.
None were counted
in the number
That he called on
in his need
For his own back
he surely clothed
As well his hunger
did he feed.
When again
he came among them
And though he sometimes
lingered there
His simple message
never varied
His mind as clear
as meadow air.
by Mark Dickson
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