Lone scrub oak, among the stones,
No trees for miles, but here you grow;
Among the rolling, broken hills,
Land untamed, devoid of frills.
There's grass around, and flowers, too;
Deep green and gold against the blue.
Rocks hewn, not by a mortal man
But by Creator's omnipotent hand.
Grey clouds conceal the ev'ning sun;
Its daily course, the light has run .
As hours flee you're left to stand,
Lone oak, the solitary man.
|This isn't the tree I was thinking of, but close enough.|