The Old Oak Tree Poem by John Ackerman

The Old Oak Tree

I stood beneath an old oak tree;
how tall it did seem
Its branches would shelter me as on its bark I would lean;
as I lay beneath its cooling
branches I would tell it my
troubles and my dreams

It was summer in my life, and oh so busy I was;
to notice its weathering branches;
to notice the tree I loved
Soon the leaves began to change
and bake upon the ground;
red, yellow, orange and shades of golden brown

The old oak tree was dying from its branches the birds did not sing
for snow was now drifting and to its branches did cling
As death comes and takes us away,
so it did with the tree that day.
When spring began to visit the earth once again,
and flowers were blooming everywhere


I decided to take a walk
and visit the tree I knew wasn't there
The hillsides were blanketed
with shades of mellow greens
and I stood alone; just God, the flowers and me in my blue jeans
As I stood in the midst of dancing colored flowers
my eyes began to swell with tears

was a twig that would be grown in a few more years
The sun began to warm the sky
and by that twig I did lie,
telling it my troubles and my dreams;
just God, the twig and I in my blue jeans