Stood, where it had been planted many generations ago,
Its huge trunk burdened by the weight of the heavy limbs
Creaking when the wind would blow …
Flowers had adopted a place beneath its shade their colors
Enhancing the boldness of the slate grey bark
Surrounding in endless tall green blades …
As children we played in this tree swinging off its branches
Falling to the carpet of grass below …
It had been through a lot this old oak
Tears of joy and sadness
Left its mark embedded on its trunk …
Names of some …
That had been scratched through
Forever forgotten…
Yet it stands strong
Its beauty untarnished …
By memories that have soaked into its life
And for the memories to come…
From the children now staking it as their own…
joy lemoine Powell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-oak/
