i still dream of you,
good old oak,
from day one.
the seasons change,
and I still picture you
standing there,
under the golden sun;

and one day,
I‘ll rush headlong
into your opened arms.
But for now, you‘re
just another
perfectly written,
but unsung song;

I promise you,
one day I‘ll come
to see you there,
ten miles away,
under the golden sun.
I’m waiting, patiently,
for my grief to be gone