O Oak, my Oak, with branches bare,
A stoic soul, you stand with flair,
No leaves adorn your arms this day,
Yet still, you seize the light's array.
Through seasons' tides, you've stood so strong,
Your roots, a bond so deep and long,
With courage vast, you face the gales,
As nature's heart within you sails.
Oh Oak, my Oak, in winter's grasp,
Through icy winds, you firmly clasp,
Your silhouette against the sky,
A testament, though leaves may die.
In vernal dreams, your buds will rise,
To greet the sun with sweet surprise,
And though the world may gasp and grieve,
Your strength, oh Oak, we shall believe.
When summer's glory paints the land,
And other trees in green expand,
Your majesty in stillness lies,
A beauty rare to poet's eyes.
Oh Oak, my Oak, in autumn's fall,
When leaves depart, we hear your call,
A silent song of life's embrace,
Through every change, you keep your grace.
The storms may rage, the tempests roar,
Yet you, unyielding, ask for more,
In every season's shifting rhyme,
You stand, unmoved, throughout all time.
So, Oak, my Oak, with no leaves near,
Your presence strong, we hold so dear,
In every heart, your roots take hold,
Forever cherished, brave and bold.
In memory of #WaltWhitman
