Under the Oak
Her nails were as red as a new born babe
Her eyes blue like the summer sky
We used to picnic under the great oak's shade
Him, my mother and I
We'd laugh for joy and talk and play
As free and light as a flowing breeze
Now I recall those simpler days
When I rest beneath the great oak trees
I struggle as the memories fade
And when I visit I sometimes cry
As I rest under the great oaks shade
Alone, my mother and I
May there come a lasting peace
Beyond this land, in life's release
Copyright © Edward Schmitz | Year Posted 2017
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