The Old Oak. Poem by Sandra Kavanagh Josefsson

The old oak, it stands there,
like it has for hundreds of years.
It has seen many people walk by,
foxes and deers.

It has seen so many buildings go up
and so many come down.
It has seen so many smiles
and even as many frowns.

It has felt the soft flowing breeze
between its branches,
the warm sun on a summers day.
The icy snowy flakes in winter.
The first buds that come in May.

The old oak it stands there,
I hope it will last many more years.
Bringing beauty to my street
and some happy cheer.

Verse: Sandra Kavanagh (c) .