Once long ago I dreamed of seeing a tree
it, like me, was in the beginnings of youth;
later, as I approached maturity, had grown
the magnificent crown of the northern oak.
Standing solitary, an umbrella in open field
green its leaves atop sylvan silver reed,
when dreamlike I witnessed it to my surprise
miraculously transformed pure fountain stream.
Bursting forth from out the earth, a geyser
falling in soft perfectly curved semi-sphere;
so, as I stood beneath approaching nearer
beheld the thunder flowing cambium force.
Under canopy dome I felt as part, as one
standing like the tarot Magus magician;
one arm outstretched pointing at heaven
other toward the deep origins of earth.
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