The Dove and the Oak

Alone I walked, through a chill wind Upon a dark and dense forest footpath. Fraught by the tragic loss of a good friend My heart hardened like a stone by the lass. I approached a wide set forest clearing, Of broken trunks and full, fallen branches; And observed there in the centre, standing A magnificent Oak tree; Nonchalance. And upon the highest of branching arms, There stood a seraphic songbird singing A song so beautiful the tree answered With a whistle of its own in the wind. As I fell to my knees, weak and weary; Bruised black and blue by the world around us; Callused by the hands thrust down upon me; I cried; "Is this all there is of justice? And that chorus of bird and tree stopped there. I peered into the branches, grimacing, And saw that stately bird, a dove, laid bare; Its feathers tarnished, its small beak missing. With that the bird continued its sweet song, And the tree began to whistle once more. And though no words were said, I, before long, Knew what the bird meant for me by his score.