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That old oak tree

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  • That old oak tree

    As if some long lost calling

    Rides the wind and rustles leafs

    Has I hike the trail that leads

    To my giant old oak tree

    Where the deer have fed for centuries

    And squirrels buried acorn seeds


    Against the wind it stood

    No lighting pieced it’s wood

    Though all those years defiant

    Strong it’s roots were good


    It grew up, was a sapling

    From another of it’s kind

    The fate of it’s grand father

    Somewhere lost it ancient time

    Perhaps it to a giant

    Yet not a trace of it to fine


    Nestled as it was, on a bench above the creek

    Just a stroke of luck, as dangers couldn’t reach

    With maples for companions

    Next to a date craved in a beech


    As near has I could make out, dated 1935

    I know it’s just and estimate

    Four hundred years alive

    That old oak tree now dying

    I can see as i arrive

    At the end of the trail

    I’ve hiked so many times

  • #2
    Very moving and beautiful divot. Your word choices painted a wonderful picture here.

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    • #3
      Tree-mend-us poem!

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      • #4
        Oak wilt is sweeping though the hills of southern Indiana’s forest, such a sad sight to behold. We’ve already lost our elm, ash and chestnut to invaders from foreign lands, I fear the maple and walnut will be soon to follow. Although my white oak tree was worth 12,000 dollars in veneered lumber, it broke my heart to cut it down. Well it helped the pain when I cashed the check at least.

        Thanks for the comment RLW and Bobby

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        • #5
          Lovely poem, divot. A tree is a tree, until you realize it is a living part of the environment of your life. Hopefully that is before it is gone.

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