Lining the road like soldiers in time
standing tall, proud, touching the sky,
trees of fine Oak wave branches as swords
in homage and welcome to me, their Lord.
Soft is the wind that whispers through leaves
the message of love and how we should be
but all we once knew hides in corners of pain
each of us own as part of our gain.
Circles of age ringed silent and grave
speak of a wisdom awarded the brave
for roots of their history reach to the core
and know of the peace beyond heaven’s door.
I’ll pass by again one day when I’m old
no longer a Lord but a poor humble soul
naked and bare in my moment of prayer
next to the crown of my human despair.
And I will bear fruit in my freedom to be
like a tall Oak in the kingdom of trees
upright and strong right where I belong
in the whispers of love’s immortal song!