The Oak Tree
A gnarled lone oak tree
grew in the middle of voluminous nowhere,
amidst vast stretches of citron corm fields,
a by-product of an old man’s weird whim.
It proved quite a memorable playground,
For when I was small it was pure delight.
Oh how I loved to climb up
towards an azure sky
feeling for sturdy branches,
imbibing the smell of fresh-grown leaves.
At times I would listen to the wayward wind,
as it moaned in isolation
amidst lush green branches.
Yet when storms struck
I shied away as the winds howled
and thunder rumbled around the top twigs
of my old oak tree.
The last time I was there
I was not alone.
Handsome was tagging along.
He was not interested in the old oak tree
That's when I began to hate him.
And just to prove my point
a sudden change of weather
and heavy rain fell hard.
We ran to the car but the doors stuck.
To shelter under the tree was dangerous.
Lightening zigzagged above.
The place became cursed.
Finally Handsome opened the car
and we sped away.
I never met Handsome nor visited the oak again.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2023
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