The Old Oak

Wed, 02/11/2015 - 11:20 -- MLE

An old and wise book full of stories that stretch miles wide,

the old oak tree calmly rests without a soul by his side.

 

Years of experience the old oak has,

listens to the wind and gently swaying grass.

 

As he quietly sits, his roots extend,

deeper and deeper, bend after bend.

 

People, feet hurrying, minds running, never stop to see

what sorts of magnificent things the old oak could be.

 

The vast formation, branches curving, trunk growing wider every year,

has seen many things in his lifetime that are worth it to hear.

 

He’s seen children play and mature into adults,

he’s experienced many events and witnessed their results.

 

The sky, clouds forming into shapes, sun radiating heat and light,

hangs over the tree while he waits patiently for night.

 

But when night comes it seems to last forever.

It gives him time to think about his whole life, a remarkable endeavor.

 

The oak surrounded always by the breeze,

a cold crisp wind, currents traveling with ease.

 

The old oak looks down from way up high,

at all the little critters that are silently passing by.

 

Leaves, color bursting, have already fallen and blown away,

he will miss them until spring and wishes they could stay.

 

The tree’s trunk, a massive stilt,

keeps the old oak standing, not allowing him to tilt.

 

He thinks to himself often, unable to vocalize a single word.

Yet he is fine with keeping to himself, he is quite self-assured.

 

He looks at the world, a crazy place,

from an outlook like no other, with peace and grace.

 

For he knows that everyone means well in the actions they show,

and he will continue watching them forever as they pass below.

 

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741