The oak in me …


Centuries pass before the oak reaches final mass, decline surely to follow, a hard thing for the giant to swallow.
Gray and great, in summer heavy with green, the kind seen only in my dreams that seed my night and propagate.
With tentacled feet reaching deep, deeper than my soul can fathom, askew and random.
It could be me standing there, the wind rustling my hair, thinking lofty thought, stuck within my only plot.

The Oak-N-Me

The Oak-N-Me

About yesisedit

Old guy, young mind.
This entry was posted in 1, Art, childrens poems, Fair-e-tale, Fun, Ideas, nature, Poem, Say it ain't so, Stories and art, story, Thoughts, Words can be funny and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to The oak in me …

  1. Terry Pitzel says:

    Hey I found you in Poetry and painting on art bistro.
    Wow what a beautiful poem. So deep so rich with meaning filled and the soul of life. Thanks so much for guiding me to you through poetry and painting.

    Your friend Terry

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