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Envy of the Oak

Mighty Oak:
So strong,
So elegant.
The skies bow down to your might.
There you rest,
Rooted firmly,
Standing up, immense and elevated.
Your arms and fingers
Reach toward the sky.
Your still grace
Is captivating.
You eloquently tell
What you’ve seen,
And what you hope to see.
I am so envious of you,
Mighty Oak.

When storms try to tear you
From your roots,
You still stand, eternal.
When there is a drought,
You still live free,
Like you have an endless flow of water.
Mighty Oak,
How is it that you can stand up tall,
When I keep getting harassed
By the storms?





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