The Golden Oak

Bent Backwards
In a symbol of loyalty
Forever seeking
The orange sun

Sprung from the ground
Clinging to the soil
Its arms and legs
Weave into the path
I trod on

Footsteps mark
People in passing
On their way to some place
Unknown to this road

Worn with time
Its majesty glows
Shedding red and yellow
At autumn’s peak

Royally guarding
The floor of the world
Questioning nothing
Waiting for no one
Bent backwards
Loyal to the sun





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