Wood Nymph
The Oak Trees
We are standing, heavy laden,
under the weight of this moss
and one can see us crying
over all that we have lost.
The old man that smoked a pipe and had
a most devilish smile no longer lives
among us and has not for quite a while.
The lady that tended the flowers
and made the house a home
just closed the doors one day
and was forever gone.
The little girl comes back
and visits now and then.
We're always glad to see her.
We think we make her smile again.
We are old, gnarled, and tired,
but we obediently guard the hill.
At night as we are bathed in mist
we feel we hear their voices still.
under the weight of this moss
and one can see us crying
over all that we have lost.
The old man that smoked a pipe and had
a most devilish smile no longer lives
among us and has not for quite a while.
The lady that tended the flowers
and made the house a home
just closed the doors one day
and was forever gone.
The little girl comes back
and visits now and then.
We're always glad to see her.
We think we make her smile again.
We are old, gnarled, and tired,
but we obediently guard the hill.
At night as we are bathed in mist
we feel we hear their voices still.
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The Oak Trees
The Oak Trees
