I started on the walk one day

I started on the walk one day
And a young oak I saw
Standing aloof, proud, tall
In its well made bed,
set and ready to be admired, 
its arms held high,
Almost arrogant as it reached though the sky.
Trimmed and sculpted it looked down,
And I walked on, passing by.
Later on my walk, I came to a field
Another oak tree I see,
Bent by weathers,
Wild in its bed
Old scars of fire upon its back,
Lightning struck,
Its arms bent wide and down
Gently bowing at the ground
Its shaggy head ruffled the sky,
It smiled at me and I grinded back
and beneath its invites I set aside my cane
To laid my head my walk at end…

Written by John Fried
Posted on 02-23-13