If I could be
A kind of tree
Then stalwart oak
Is fine by me
I’d grow so tall
And that’s not all
My muddled roots
About would sprawl
My branches jut
My acorns nut
Around my base
The beetles rut
I’d speak no words
But friends thick-furred
Would find a home
Amongst the birds
The shadows made
By foliage splayed
Provides all guests
With cooling shade
Inside my trunk
On sap they’ve drunk
The baby squirrels
For winter bunk
A life of ease
Amongst the trees
I’ll stand alone
For centuries
The rains might soak
Wind-fires stoke
But none shall fell This stout-stocked oak
In dreams I see
My leaves fly free
And evermore
An oak I’ll be