Son Of The Old Oak - Poem by Shawn Lippert
What was once but just a small twig,
has grown so fast
and is getting big.
He stands tall and proud over the meadow flowers,
trying to conceal his boasting power.
Playing with the wind through his branches,
soaking up the rain as it trenches.
Learning to be weathered by nature,
yet only stands so high,
surely he is getting mature,
as an elder stands by.
Who is this young seedling that
has startled the land?
His father so just,
calls him his second hand.
I Cannot wait to hear his stories
told to the folk,
after all he is The Son Of The Old Oak!
Comments about Son Of The Old Oak by Shawn Lippert
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You