Leaves rustle and branches quiver,
As the breeze of uncertainty
Runs through the air like a river;
Shaking and quaking the tall oak tree.
The bark is covered with cracks
And freckled with notches,
Much like the skin of the wise and the old,
Even though the tree is lacking in age,
For only eighteen times
Have the leaves fallen in the cold.
And even though we know the leaves will always fall,
They will certainly return in the spring.
The tree lives its life answering nature’s call,
Being a source of life for every living thing.