Two hundred years the mighty oak had stood,
Defying wind and drought and flood.
On autumn branches squirrels played.
Its summer leaves cast dappled shade
upon the ground beneath.
Between its massive feet true loves caressed
And springtime birds each built a nest
protected from the midday sun.
But now the sands of time have run
their course upon this tree.
This noble oak was in the way of men.
A planner wielded gold-tipped pen.
A protest mounted - all in vain.
They came with saw and axe and crane
and built a motorway.