The Twisted Old Oak

The Old Twisted Oak

He was as wise as could be,
Not old nor young,
His skin was wrinkled,
He was marbled and weak,
His hair stood up,
It was curled and sharp.

He was patched with love,
But was lost once again,
He now lay beneath,
The ever still sand,
Of the miserable, lost savannah.

He was young before,
But still not old,
He lost his love,
And next came his soul.