Sonnet to an Oak

I’m am oak with a bald crown, from my
nether branches they used hang criminals,
I still wear a scar, not that I had any say in
the matter, but I enjoyed the spectacle, lots
of people looking up, passive compliance?
Sheriff and judge are thighbones rubbing up
against the bony hips of whores, and grave
robbers grinning skulls… serves them right.
White landscape, descendant of the hanged
are coming down the road…revenge time?
I have no leaves to hide behind, but they are
not looking my way, busy cutting smaller
trees, mere saplings, and that’s ok, they are
only fir tree pretending to be a forest.