Monday, August 1, 2016

Solitary Man


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.

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