The Old Oak Tree

Which story shall I tell today
From where I stand, far from decay?
Two hundred years, I’ve seen it all…
Budding lives, I’ve watched them all.

Long time friends, so quickly made,
Who’ve rested underneath my shade,
The ones that perched upon my limbs
And nested till their lives grew dim.

The many children I have known,
I watched them till the time they’d grown.
The lovers carved on me a heart,
Their names with which I’ll never part.

There came a time when I was used
To hold the rope for those accused.
I’ve kept their dreams, still hear their song
Of men who hanged but did no wrong.

I’ll not forget as soldiers cried,
They leaned against my trunk and died.
I hold their pain within my rings
That hide my age, and other things.

But seasons change as I grow old,
New buds arrive and lives unfold.
And once again, a happy time,
Upon my branches, children climb.

A story, I’ve for every leaf
And every one has brought me grief.
Though I am old, I hold in store,
Two hundred years of life, and more.

The house beside me, old with rot,
My only friend… a grave site plot.
A stone that stands without a name;
His memory, just I can claim.

I’ve learned that life comes to an end
And so will mine, I can’t pretend.
Next time you see an old oak tree,
Imagine all its history.

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