The Oak

The Winds of Autumn in its Crown
The old Oak was at rest
Its Leafs a luscious golden brown
In Sunlight from the West
So brilliantly serene it stood
In Daylights waning Path
Beyond the Shadows of the Woods
Amongst the soft blue Grass
As Night now set upon the Fields
It thought of Days gone by
The endless Cycles of the Wheel
The Visions in the Sky
Beneath the fertile Grounds there dwelled
A Worm between its Roots
Inside the Trunk the Squirrels were felt
And Sparrows on its shoots
The soft warm Wind a Song did sing
To Creatures great and small
And through the Tree a chanting ring
In Harmony with All
The Sparrows slept, the snuggling Squirrels
Inside their furry Nests
The curled up Worm in its small World
The Oak would guard their Rest
The silent Watcher stood its Guard
While Woods and Fields and Land
In voiceless Whisper of the Heart
The World held in Its Hand