The Ancient Oak

Ancient oak, where mysteries fall,                    Glowing softly with silver light,                                Eons old, forever stood tall,                                     Standing in the Old Ones' sight. 

Reverent flowers, heads bent low,                Under weight of veils of dew,                             An echo of the times gone past,                         And of homage done to you.                            

Spirit of the Woodland realm,                     Standing proud and alone,                                        In the midst of a clearing wide,                          By a circle of stone.                                      

Legends whisper in your branches,                      Gods speak through your leaves,                Symbol of strength, courage, and fortitude, King of all the trees.

Under your branches maidens sit,         Pondering the coming of night,                      When the jeweled cloak is spread,                   And angels take to flight.               

Protection you grant, in the shadow of the moon,                                                                                                           To the creatures of the night,                                       To the noble stag of the woodland realm,          Till the coming of the light,                              And you, a king are crowned again,                     In gold and silver and white.

copyright, Averil Elizabeth White