In all the years I have walked among oaks ,
I’ve seldom sat and let their allures soak.
With their limbs , on hikes ,I’ve bumped my head.
Roots caught my boot ,on the floor I spread.
Passing glancing nemesis they were.
Today I much prefer ,oak than fir.
Beckoning up close, it got a hug.
When I stroked its textured limb ,no shrug.
I took it as an invitation.
Continued without cessation.
Its crackled ridged bark with hand was felt.
My hand on the branch felt nothing svelte.
The oak’s texture's, a rugged appeal.
When you need a hug , its no big deal.