The ancient oak
wears a cloak
of hoary old bark
and scalloped leaves.
She raises high her limbs,
writes silent hymns
that the nested larks
turn to music with ease.
A thousand years
on this blue sphere
has this oak thrived
under countless moons
aloof from the cares
we people may share:
She’s simply alive
to write her secret tunes.
Oct 30, 2024
Oct 30, 2024 at 7:11 AM UTC
The ancient oak
wears a cloak
of hoary old bark
and scalloped leaves.
She raises high her limbs,
writes silent hymns
that the nested larks
turn to music with ease.
A thousand years
on this blue sphere
has this oak thrived
under countless moons
aloof from the cares
we people may share:
She’s simply alive
to write her secret tunes.