The Oak Poem by Marlin Nightingale

I saw a solemn oak tree,
It's spreading leafy arms,
The light that filters through, i see,
Is glowing green and warm.

It's branches are a symbol,
Of gnarled strength and time,
And rising to the clouds that roll,
A hulking trunk, I find.

Yes, lifted to that lofty point,
Where branches scrape the sky,
Too measureless to even count,
Where is heard the birds' faint cry.

A ladder to the heavens,
A stairs of mythic limb,
Old as the stone its cleaving
And yet alive within!