Son Of Oak Poem by Quinten Darrow

Son of Oak
Watching the budding leaves as they dance in the wind.
Like some long lost family tree, they seem to be all akin.
Long as I remember I have have been drawn to a tree.
Some old reason their beauty pacifies that beast in me.

Reach those long arms out just for a glimpse of the sun.
Dig those feet in, so from the earth they don't get spun.
Trees have to learn to bend with the wind or they'll break.
Funny, that was always a very hard lesson for me to take.

For all those who face the world and lead with their chin.
Tis better to walk through life with your fist up my friend.
Even with the strongest old trees, their bark seem to soften.
No need to throw a punch, just don't get hit quiet so often.

Death, never been that scared of nor have I of being alone.
Done a thing or two, right or wrong, some I tried to atone.
'77 convertible Eldorado, jet black and red leather interior.
Never trusted those who thought themselves far superior.

My whole life I knew what I would do with my last breath.
I'd flip 'em the bird and laugh like hell in the face of death.
But be there some hope and a whole wide world of grace
The last thing for these eyes ever to see would be your face.