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The Oak Tree
The old oak tree is worn and
tired.
His bark is
scratched
and
Weathered.
He is curved and bent.
Marked from years of
growing
Through
Wind.
And rain.
And sun.
He is a
writing slate.
Names of past lovers are
Carved
into
his
skin.
Stories.
Heartbreak.
Or happily-ever-after.
Who can tell?
He is a hideaway.
A fortress.
For the young
and the young at heart.
Tears are absorbed in his bark.
Laughter has
B o u n c e d off his leaves.
He sings
as the wind
whistles through
His branches.
I tell him my troubles
My triumphs
My fears.
He listens well.
The years have made him wise.
He helps me
Find
the
answers
Inside
Myself.
Go to him
when you are
lonely.
When the day just seems
Too long.
He will give you peace.
Comfort.
Protection.
He will listen to your secrets
And n e v e r tell.
And maybe even
tell you his own.
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