THE OLD OAK

a poem by Edith Silverman Karelis, USA

A giant oak stands tall against the sky,
A majesty of strength, with leaves that cling
and rustle in the breeze.
A watchful eye may spot a nest where noisy blue jays sing.
This tree has lived a thousand years or more,
and gently touched with shade its thoughtful face.
Its branches, gnarled with age, uplifted, soar.
On earth, the shadows form a scarf of lace.
Perhaps, a tempest marred this modest oak
by carving furrows deep within its thigh.
How often did this giant laugh and joke?
Did sufferings bring forth a trembling sigh?
Proud landmark on the hill, for man you hold
a multitude of secrets left untold.

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