My Oak Trees

We are standing heavy-laden under the weight of this moss. No one can see us crying over all that we have lost. The old man that smoked a pipe and had a most devilish smile, no longer lives here~ and has not for quite a while. The corn house is now empty but we protect it with our shade. We miss seeing the activity that all the people made. The lady that tended the flowers and made the house a home~ just closed the doors on day and was,forever gone. The little girl comes back and visits us now and then. We are always glad to see her. She seems to smile again. We are old, gnarled and tired but we obediently guard the hill. At night as we are bathed in mist, We Can hear their voices still.