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Old Mr. Oak

Old Mr. Oak had bumps on his sides.
In his tired arms, black birds did reside.
He had seen all kinds come and go,
watching the young become old and slow.

The largest and king of mighty trees,
for 100 years, he’d danced in the breeze.
Children had used him to play at their games,
and he laughed at snowstorms, ice and rains.

Seasons came and time passed by.
Many have stood under his watchful eye.
Lovers carved their initials in a heart.
Smiling, he knew he'd always be a part.

Old Mr. Oak’s bones creaked when he swayed.
Sometimes an arm or two would give way.
One day the owner built a pool in his yard.
Earth movers’ trauma hit Mr. Oak hard.

In autumn his leaves turned but didn’t fall.
They hung there brown for an expert to call.
He said he was dying from shock and such.
The shifting of his roots had been too much.

Old Mr. Oak had to face his life’s end.
To the last ounce of living this tree would defend.
His limbs hit the ground and jarred Mother earth.
Saws snarled as they grappled with his thick girth.

He closed his eyes on the green garden world,
and sighed as his life began to unfurl.
That glowing fire of a room so warm,
comes from old Mr. Oak, all the years long.

1/6/16

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