Branches swing against my windowpane
A repetitive movement that slows in the summer
And quickens in the brash wind of winter
Oh old oak tree
We meet again
Old friend to friend

Reminds me of childhood
Times of perpetual wonder
Lost in the haze of daydreams
Reminds me of climbing till I could see the sun peeking out from between the branches
Reminds me of adventure, of swinging precariously, tempting the wood to snap

It’s branches reaching towards the sky
No appointed direction
Where will I climb today?
Tomorrow?
Will I regret the branch I take?

Rain splatters against my window
Cascading down until the old oak tree blurs into abstract art
Oh old oak tree
Always at a crossroad
You and I
When is it time to rest?
Shall we succumb to our withering heart, sticky from sap and dew?

I’m tired old oak tree
May I laze under your leaves?
They have turned dark and frail
But still look like home to me
Sorry to find familiarity in your disparity
But the gentle hum of wind gliding through your breakage
Sounds lovely
Does a lullaby deserve to sound so enchanting when it comes from ruination?

A dying beauty is better than a living one
Why else would we pick flowers?
Love the softness of the features yet scorn it’s thorns
Beauty is what we make it
Not how it comes
And decay never smelled so sweet

I’ve travelled long and far to come back to you, old oak
How I’ve missed our talks
How I’ve longed to watch speckled stars shine through your lushness
Why do we destroy our creations, friend?
When did contentment die within us
Please save me
Bury me under your blanketed soil
I want to go back
But no amount of oxygen can force the fire to rise inside of us again
All that’s left is smoke in my lungs
It’s too late for liberation

When I look through my window again, years have passed
The old oak tree is gone
A stump remains, rings etched into it reminding me of times I’ve ached to forget
Daydreams replaced with melancholy memories
All I can wonder now
Is if I have enough firewood
To make it through winter