The Oak.

Once a tiny acorn
Three hundred years ago
Then a sapling
Now a mighty tree
Forest's king
I gaze at you
In awe of your proud stature
Limbs clothed in moss and lichen
Robed in ferny fronds
Finer than any velvet.

You have watched men
Their brief sorties to your realm
Stood sentinel to your kingdom
Silent and stately
Yet you called me.

I approached slowly
Humbled by your awsome nobility
Felt your iron hard buttresses
Embrace me tenderly
Lulling me to sleep
As you whispered secrets in my dreams.

 

A poem about a very old, very beautiful oak tree in a field where I was lucky enough to be working one day.