Redwood Lives On

A reluctant quiet interior,

more like verbose exterior

never wavering, highly opinionated

only to showcase his prowess

leaving nothing to the imagination.

Who is this delight, dare I say

ham sandwich with all the fixings,

Sherman Redwood, that’s his name

and making people laugh

is his claim to fame. He’d never

hurt a fly. Don’t ask me why,

to meet a stranger is not his forte’.

As friendly as they come, that

is his style. He is in the

midst of a health crisis and he

doesn’t think he’ll see the light of day,

yet he’s still among the living. I guess the

good Lord saw fit to keep him rooted

here. His roots run deep, so deep

he’s named after a redwood tree,

Sherman, that’s his name and don’t you

forget it, most people

that have made his acquaintance,

will never be the same.

He still chooses to find the

brighter side and not

rewind coulda, shoulda, woulda,

as he locates bright spots daily

he passes them out to each

and every one he encounters,

leaving an indelible mark

a grove of trees bearing

lineages of fruit that

can’t be erased based on how

Sherman died, but how he

lived. So if you are ever looking for

Sherman, he’s deep in the redwood

forest, standing 275 feet tall

with the inscription

Redwood Lives On.