I, your oak tree ask, will you rest your painted wings on my branch?
I know I can't make your fleeting candleflame of a life last more than your few bright days, but for now rest upon my ancient bark and hear the lullaby of my leaves.
If rain should cause you to falter I'll bend my branches to shield you from the icy volley of raindrops.
As stars fade out in ink of night, I'll let a leaf fall from my bough and I hope it brings some comfort, in your last glimpses of this cruelly beautiful world.