One Hundred Years Hence

Which will be standing
    One hundred years
        from now?

Granite,
    or
        Oak?

The rock,
    Upright
        By some ancient maelstrom;
    Unmoved by real time,
        Slow to turn,
        And silent to its fate.

The tree,
    It's branches
        Sprawling;
    It's roots
        Twining.
    Born the leeward side
        Outgrowing its protector
    It's life
        Unfolding.

Descendent of March
    And same of Hall
        Will meet
    One hundred years hence
        To settle the bet
        And honor the victor
            And vanquished.