Untitled

In the middle of a field,
Alone it stands;
Graceful, tall, alive.
The life it's been given lasts for years,
But it protects how many.
"How many?" I ask it,
But silence is it's only
Answer.
I can see what the years have done
By the branches on the trunk;
Yet still it grows, not dying,
The branches still alive with life,
Acorns,
And life for years to come until we need it no more.