The Oak Tree On The Hill

Meet me underneath the oak tree on the hill;
You know the one I mean.

Take off your heavy trenchcoat,
toss your tin helmet on the ground
where the sunlight will glint off the edge
and let the wind ruffle through your hair,
just starting to grow back.

Meet me underneath the oak tree on the hill.
Breathe in deeply
and smell home.

Roll up your shirt sleeves,
try and brush the dust from your trousers.
Ruefully rub the stubble on your chin
and wish you’d had a chance to clean up first.

Meet me underneath the oak tree on the hill.
I will approach,
pause
and watch you from a short distance.

Standing underneath the oak tree on the hill.

Waiting for me.

I’ll lift up a hand
to shield my eyes from the sun
and the movement will catch your eye.

You’ll pause, just for a moment,
and watch the breeze flare out my dress.
Look, and smile, at my bare feet, the shoes in my hand.
Breathe in deeply
and come home.

Underneath the oak tree on the hill
we can be found.
Your tin hat in your right hand,
my high-heeled shoes in my left hand
and your left hand
holding my right.