Mossy Oak

The Old Oak Tree

This is an old spreading oak.
Its beauty maybe you won’t see.
It’s been a refuge in life’s storms;
And still it stands with open arms.
No one knows its date of birth,
Just when it sprouted from the earth,
Yet since it was a little tree,
It had its share of company.
The old cypress bench smooth and worn,
Where men gathered and sat upon;
To smoke and talk and, wistfully,
Lean against the tree.
They told old tales of love and life,
As the old whittler smiled and carved with his knife.
When as a child I passed the tree
I thought, what a friendly place to be.
It will never have a lonely day,
Cause it’s been a friend in every way
I know that there will always be
Someone to love the old oak tree.
Now, whenever I go away, no matter where I roam
When I see the hanging moss and the old oak tree
I know that I have come home.

1956 by Emily Altazan Andre’

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