Oak trees whisper a wise and solemn vow,
Of which Sorrow, grief, and darkness hold
Within their grasps- a formidable bough
Rounding lines of Age and Death foretold.
While quiet meticulous thought rounds out
Any hopeless dreams of streching skyward
With reason and fear making water drought
Quiet winds of hope and change are altered.
One moment, extended quite beyond
One moment- and pulled down to kindling-
Highest hope and seeds charity spawned
Years after youthful spring bore sapling

Winds that bare my friend down now,
Know not the vengence of tomorrow.