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Oak

Upon that hill there stood a tree
Which one might spot from miles afar;
Through day and night it could be seen
Beneath the sun; the moon; the stars.

Two hundred years did it stand guard
Over the village from that hill;
Through summers sweet and winters hard,
Life swarmed around; that oak stood still.

Children in its boughs did hide,
Young lovers picnicked in its shade
And carved initials in its sides;
Mementos of the love they’d made.

Forever it seemed the oak would stand
And people marveled at its size,
Watching over that peaceful land
With unseen, ancient, wizened eyes.

And when the Great Storm came around
It crashed the mighty oak to earth;
Down where the acorns lay aground;
Back to that low place of its birth.

The towering oak all knew so well,
That rigid oak had come to pass;
Yet round the mighty oak which fell
Still stood the humble blades of grass.

Take heart now, though the oak has passed;
Stood there for the ages and is gone,
The world has not yet seen the last;
One thousand acorns carry on.

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