At the edge of a forest,
in a clearing, on a bluff,
stands a solitary oak tree
cloaked in burly bark, all rough.

On arms that stretch to heaven
perch a crown of autumn gold
that flutter to cull secrets
off the winds that blow so cold.

No one knows when it took root there -
how it came to guard the way -
standing resolute in purpose,
marking the birth of each new day.
Daring to face down gale force storms,
defiance wills the crown unbowed -
and in aftermath of battle
finds no dangers' been allowed.

And with ensuing victory
comes a stillness soft and long -
forest sounds fall silent just to hear
the timber's righteous song.

As if it were a . . . heart beat . . .
cloaked in burly bark, all rough -
disguised as just an oak tree,
in a clearing, on a bluff.



JLL
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