In the shade of a towering oak, in the wavering heat of day,
There came men of the same; they more light than flesh.
There to speak to Nation’s Father, a father to Affliction’s Say.
”Say’t, without mirth, “Ancient will give birth to new flesh.”
The wind blew hard as ancient wife cried out in mirth.
”Now that this flesh is withered, you send this tale, this
Story of new birth.” “To Laughter’s Flame you will give birth.
This time, a year hence, you will swell in your bliss.
And Nation’s Father will joy in Nation’s inheritance.”
The notion that the dead will give birth, is nothing new.
But the tale of Laughter’s birth and a mother’s impotence;
The tale of old father, with now two sons has nations hewn.
This shady towering tree witnessed Laughter’s flame
And saw the spark that give birth to our laughter’s Name.
© rl busséll 2018 – All rights reserved.
Photo by Victor Zambrano on Unsplash