The Oak, Steadfast Poem by Steven Rodgers

When the wind blows strong,
Twigs may snap, branches bend,
Leaves tossed aside like so much
Of the very force that binds us. 
But the oak, the aging oak,
He stands tall, he stands fast,
Amidst the torrent that shakes
The foundation of all,
The oak will stand true. 

Is it then a wonder?
Even now, the oak wrestles
With fate, with destiny. 
Not fighting what will be,
Rather, fighting for it,
Protecting the world from
So much that threatens purity. 
The oak will stand tall. 

And when the oak's time comes,
And the wind, stayed throughout
It's life, will then surely fell the oak. 
And when the oak, in it's dying testament to the life it led,
Booms out the promise that a new oak will take up the charge,
The oak will stand fast, steadfast,
Until the end of time.