Two Oak trees have grown well
In a wheat field forgotten now
One a bit taller than the other
One a great father, and one, great mother
South of them a scatter of saplings grow,
For the time of year their acorns drop
North winds are bringing in the fall
Sheltered they will be, as they grow tall
A mystery how these two oaks have grown there
This land is windy, and seldom fair
Perhaps the windy season newly sprung
And not so harsh when they were young
No, a closer look reveals a cavity
On the north side of the ancestral trees
Where once they, had shelter take
all the brunt north winds can make
Older trees than they, once stood
More northern still, to guard the good
That they were raising beneath their bough
With oaths as strong as only oaks can vow
Scattered downwind the little oaks grow
And not so little as the newest crop
With enough rings to be counted now
And acorns that fall from their bough
Planted by providence, together
Each growing to guard God’s chosen front
To withstand the strongest gale
To face alone each would fail
Two oaks, stand, well grown
And beneath them seeds well sown
Of strength and truth and vows unbroken,
And all the things that make an Oak, Oaken.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem