The Treasures of an Oak

An acorn falls in leafy loam to rest,

And swelling splits, a searching root to show,

First formed new leaves rise up at sun’s behest,

And with the warmth the seedling starts to grow.


Rising through the forest litter,

Fighting with the tangled weeds and grass,

Other trees around you all seem fitter,

But every year you grow with gathering mass.


Standing tall beside the waters clear,

A canopy of shade beneath the blaze,

A refuge for the parched and panting deer,

And home to Squirells, Ravens, Doves and Jays.


What plans were hatched beneath your shade?

What hopes were raised or dreams were dared to trust?

What idle thoughts with you were mused or made?

What futures failed or fell and turned to dust?


Silent sage of ages old,

What secrets lie within your bark?

What scars of passions long since cold?

Or misdemeanours of our hidden dark?


And when your age has passed and you must fall,

Here ends a golden era so it seems,

You rise again phoenix like and tall,

And higher mortals dwel within your beams.


Your limbs are cut and planed with sharpened blade,

Fashioned by a skilful craftsmans gauge,

A different trunk from you is strongly made,

To hold new treasures for another age.

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