He stands alone now etched by time
As though was meant to be
His frame all bent and twisted
For all who pass to see
It wasn't always as it is
When children came around
To run and laugh and shriek with glee
He revelled in the sound
But age and weather took its toll
And disease had hit him hard
A surgeons cuts had saved his life
For which he didn't charge
And so he stands alone but proud
To survey what could be seen
The only oak for miles around
Upon the village green.
As you know I love trees Graham, and poems about them are delightful to read. Loved this one. Love Ernestine XXX
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
............very nice, and I love the imagery of the oak...great write ★