The Reign of Thornbush

One day, the trees sought a king,
A ruler their hopes would bring,
In the land where trees stood tall,
But in their quest, a cautionary call.

To the olive tree, they first appealed,
"Be our king," they fervently revealed,
But the olive, revered and grand,
Declined, oil slipping through its hand.

"Shall I forsake my oil's divine glow,
That honors gods and humans so,
To rule over trees, in earthly domain?
No, my essence, I shall not profane."

The fig tree, adorned with fruits so sweet,
Was beckoned to take the royal seat,
But it, too, refused their noble plea,
Preserving its purpose, fruitfully free.

"Shall I surrender my succulent prize,
The taste of delight that satisfies,
To govern the trees, in earthly embrace?
No, my harvest, I shall not erase."

Next, the vine was summoned to sway,
"Come, be our king," the trees did say,
Yet, it, too, declined the sovereign plea,
Sparing its nectar's celestial decree.

"Shall I relinquish the wine I bestow,
That warms both gods and humans, aglow,
To rule over trees, in this mortal realm?
No, my elixir, I shall not o'erwhelm."

Finally, they turned to the thornbush bare,
Desperate for a king, in their despair,
It offered shelter, with a warning clear,
A choice to embrace or face fire's sear.

"If you crown me king, your sovereign guide,
Seek refuge within my shade, wholly inside,
But reject this, and witness the fire,
Consuming cedars in a dreadful pyre!"

Too late did the trees learn a lesson profound,
As do good men who stay silent, unbound,
Choosing passivity in public affairs, they bear,
To be ruled by the malevolent, a price unfair.

So rise, oh virtuous souls, heed the plea,
Engage in the struggle, let your actions decree,
Take up the mantle, courageously embrace the fight,
For evil triumphs, only when good turns a blind sight.