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My Constant Mentor
by Quinn Blackburn
High atop a windy hill,
boldly framed by the world’s eye.
A maze of roots, a carven trunk,
twig-tipped fingers brush the sky.
Silent scholar of the ages
anchored by matters of mortal weight,
Yet like a guardian and guide,
stretching toward Celestial gates.
Adorned with Muses’ hidden gems,
swaying branches bloom with thought.
Holding tight to realms above
where every dream is gently caught.
Thrumming, like an ancient harp,
Inspiration quivers along it’s limbs.
Stifled not by mundane cares,
bowing only to Nature’s whims.
‘Twixt mortal and immortal realms,
as all of Life hurries by,
‘neath Sun or Stars or Storm’s dark wings
dwells this quiet sage, you, and I ...
By Quinn Blackburn
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