The old Oak which used
to stand firmly
Through the howling
wind breaking apart his wings
Time flew over him
The fierce Storms and
burning Sun
Turning his trunk white
and branches weak Once Young and supple
His Bark is now
withered with many wounds of time
Heavy upon that wrinkled
skin
He has seen them all
The forgotten people
The abandoned hopes
Eras of glory and Eras
of soberness or dark
He lost count of how
many
May be he never cared
The Old Oak trembles
now and then
As the crying grey sky
Wets the twigs which are
left
Dripping through the
splits of wounds
Years have wrought and overgrown
He has made every
single one of them
A
cleft in his bark
An Encapsulated memory
Lost now in a silent
tale
Of that hazy grey eyes
