Mighty Oak

Oh, mighty oak,
tree of destiny,
from seed to sapling
to lone pillar of bough and bark.

Oh, mighty oak,
there were plans for thee,
host to tire swings and bold climbers,
shade for picnics, shelter for young lovers.

Oh, mighty oak,
none will weep for thee,
shunned for the strength of your limb,
though you knew naught of black or white or brown.

Oh, mighty oak,
tree of destiny,
not for pleasure as should be,
known now only as the hanging tree.

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2 Comments

Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “Mighty Oak

  1. No longer, I would weep for a fallen oak.

  2. Oh my goodness, Mark. I love the third stanza. Also the ending, but that third really touches me.

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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