The Cold Oak

I trudged down the snowy lane one day
Up to the rounded oak tree standing against
Blustering snow; twirling, swirling through
Its bare stark branches shivering against the cold.
I would ask the oak how it feels to stand out
Through the wintry season of cold, snow and ice.
But, he did not answer back as he continued
To shake his branches of snow landing down neatly
I would offer my coat or scarf–
But no not large enough to wear on an oak
Who has endured year after year standing silently alone
In this wintry mix of falling snow.


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