The tree before me stands alone By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
An Oak, three hundred years or more ago
As a sapling grew, straight, tall and true
Each Spring a new beginning
and mightier stood the Oak with the passing of time.
The Oak was proud.
And underneath it's spreading boughs
Lovers came and made their vows
Within it's bark they carved their names
And children played their silly games
And the Oak was loved.
The Oak smiled.
A storm one dark November day
ripped its neighbours from around
and they were carried away
Firewood for the man of the day.
It too was damaged, but it made it through
Still straight, still tall, still true.
The Oak sighed.
And on my twilight walk today
The tree before me stands alone,
silhouetted against the silvery moon.
The leaves long gone, it is naked in winter
ashamed, alone, baring its soul.
I shine my torch and detect the branch,
worn smooth by ropes.
It didn't ask to be chosen.
It didn't want to hear their clicking necks.
Or carry the weight of their limbs,
until their struggling ceased.
It simply had no choice.
All that was moons ago, but mud sticks.
Despite its beauty when in leaf,
it'sreputation lingers on.
Rooted in one place, it will always now be,
the ‘hanging tree'.
And the oak cries.
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