poetry & things

Oak tree

In childhood days of dream, with grassy greens,

and swings we soared the warmest breeze,

in blue skies of laughter.

Under a canopy of wonder,

we laid under, O’ the hours of summer slumber,

the lazy slow of watching meadow flowers grow.

Spring it sings in budding greens and seeds

with rain and sun, the days you’ve grown

acorns planted for rebirth

I press my hands to your trunk

and feel myself divinely rooted to this earth.

Post navigation
Scroll to top