The Old Oak Tree

I have a picture of a tree, its gnarled trunk thick and wide, support branches reaching a hundred feet high Once started as a seed, has grown to become truly mighty, generations have played under her leaves, climbing high into her crown, a dizzying height, tire tubes and swings, wore deep grooves into her lower branches, evidence of childhood attention, remnants of an old tree house, still may be seen, yet, can no longer be reached, to high the old oak tree I love Mary encased in a heart carved into her bark, hastily scratched through, then added Sue, Lucy, and June, all share the same fate, carved by a young fellow whose name is unknown When in full regalia a majestic sight, her leaves rustle softly in the wind, designed to send gentle breeze, where lunch is laid, and children play For eons she has pleasured many, harmed none, adding beauty and grace, to the old home place In her time, she had weathered many a storm, although, her limbs and leaves did shake, she stood defiant in their wake, she stood her ground, refusing to be brought down Now I know she was awfully old, she looked terrifically strong, as big as she was, some of her roots, her foundation, had cracked, been ripped apart, deep scars that never healed, ran throughout, never deeply rooted from the start, her massive weight, kept her, from falling apart Then came along the worst she had ever seen, throwing at her winds over one thirty, her powerful branches, reaching so high, snap like twigs, are cast aside, her broad trunk taking full impact, finally succumbs, pushed over onto her back, her foundation ripped from the ground, stood skeletal, hovering above, what was once her majestic crown If you listened closely when she hit the ground, the moan of hundreds of children crying out, was her last sound She lay there for weeks, until, finally, cut up, burned, and hauled off, nothing remained I have a picture of a tree, where once stood a mighty oak, a miniature shoot now free of the land, reaches ever higher