Vine

The roots of the green oak
Gave me a life
And in its chlorophyll
I found a listed host of its commands
Delimited by blank alchemies
Which I obey
Pretending subservience
So that I may take its rising substance
For my hazard purpose
When the oak gave its seed the vision
I corrupt those listed tenets with my own
And with secret wishes sloughed it to the nearby ground
My intended lovely child began to grow awry
As the green vine of governance
Round and round our wary host
So that the Holm respect the vine
The latter showered great leaves of documents
Upon its face devouring beyond all sense
And the oak its simple chemical manual
Is driven into darkness
So now its making nothing
Heavy with the bureaucratic labour which the vine extracts
The withering vine constricts and in time
Corrupts the structure
And as you know from other long dead megadons
Whose fungus'd trunks are dotted round the aged wildwoods
The vine consigns us all decay
Remember then despondent acorn mourning
Every oak must change with circumstance
Or die and if its substance worthy
Then the genesis provides a worthy caller
At the gates of dusk