Submitted By: capekiwanda@protonmail.com – Click to email about this post
A day to honor our fathers.
THE OAK TREE
He doesn’t bend when winds arise, He faces storms with steady eyes. His roots run deep beneath the land, A silent strength, a guiding hand. While others sway, he stands alone— An oak tree I have always known.
His branches reach but never pull, His shade is calm, his heart is full. He lets the seasons shape his bark, But still he guards me through the dark. No matter where the years may go, He stays the same beneath the snow.
He’s weathered drought, and fire, and rain, Yet speaks no word of loss or pain. Instead he lifts me to the skies, And teaches me through lows and highs. He whispers lessons in the breeze, And roots me down in times like these.
He’s not the sun, but blocks the flame, Protecting me in life’s wild game. He’s not the moon, but lights my way, When every dream begins to stray. A presence vast, yet close and near, The tree of life I hold most dear.
I carve my name upon his side, And see his joy he cannot hide. For every mark I make on him, He glows within each growing limb. He bears the weight, he bears the scars, But still believes in who we are.
So on this day, I gift this rhyme, A little leaf from ancient time. To thank the one who watched me grow, Through summer sun and winter snow. My father, tall through storm and sea— Forever strong, my family tree.
THE OAK TREE
He doesn’t bend when winds arise, He faces storms with steady eyes. His roots run deep beneath the land, A silent strength, a guiding hand. While others sway, he stands alone— An oak tree I have always known.
His branches reach but never pull, His shade is calm, his heart is full. He lets the seasons shape his bark, But still he guards me through the dark. No matter where the years may go, He stays the same beneath the snow.
He’s weathered drought, and fire, and rain, Yet speaks no word of loss or pain. Instead he lifts me to the skies, And teaches me through lows and highs. He whispers lessons in the breeze, And roots me down in times like these.
He’s not the sun, but blocks the flame, Protecting me in life’s wild game. He’s not the moon, but lights my way, When every dream begins to stray. A presence vast, yet close and near, The tree of life I hold most dear.
I carve my name upon his side, And see his joy he cannot hide. For every mark I make on him, He glows within each growing limb. He bears the weight, he bears the scars, But still believes in who we are.
So on this day, I gift this rhyme, A little leaf from ancient time. To thank the one who watched me grow, Through summer sun and winter snow. My father, tall through storm and sea— Forever strong, my family tree.