Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WARRIOR TREE, by PENELOPE FYNN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WARRIOR TREE, by                    
First Line: You dare to pity me, o puny man
Last Line: You, with but three score years and ten.
Subject(s): Sympathy; Empathy


You dare to pity me, O puny man,
I, the last Viking of my line.
You call me naked, stripped and bare,
I, the staunch and sturdy pioneer
With roots imbedded in the ageless rock,
Immovable, yet scarred
By winter's swift-born storms
Which strike with force against my battlements
To no avail.

I scorn your sympathy;
You see in my gaunt arms
Branches divested of their rightful habiliments;
I would not bound and hampered be
By silken, lacy leaves -- as are these
Singing, fragile trees
Grouped in such close proximity --
Along the sheltered cliff and winding streams.

I have a mission and a trust;
To warn frail man he shall not pass
Beyond the timber line.
Would he obey a less gaunt finger than my own?
Would he relinquish his wild quest
Beyond the glacier's treacherous plain
Where few may venture and return again?
From out this austere, lofty height
I view with patience passing centuries.

Dare not to pity me -- O puny man;
You, with but three score years and ten.





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