THE OAK TREE By Carol Creswell

When light’ning struck the oak tree and the trunk was torn to shreds

I saw that most of life was gone and soon it would be dead.

I sighed and told the children that I feared that growth was gone

But still they must now cling to hope and pray it carried on.

And summer came, and rain and sun graced every nook and cranny.

The little tree just bravely grew; it truly was uncanny.

It stood there on the leeward shore. ‘Twas bathed by sunbeams large.

The lake waves thundered o’er its flanks and Nature led the charge.

The sunrise kissed it every morn, the sunset laid its rest.

And every day it grew and grew. In winter took its rest.

I feel as if it is my fate, though buffeted by strife,

To cling to hope, as if reborn, and cheer on precious Life.

Just like that tree out by the lake, in lonely solitude,

I’ll wave my branches, drink my fill of sun and rain and food.

A metaphor: tenacity and perseverance true.

If that small tree can cling to life then maybe I can, too.