Poetry
The Old Oak
I am the Old Oak
Older than when man first spoke
I remember things that you
you could only dream
From a time when the
world was fresh and green
I am the Old Oak
Now my roots begin
to choke
I now see cities
where I once saw wood
And motorways where
the heath land stood
I am the Old Oak
As old as the wind
Remember me less you
see me again
By Blew
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