The mighty oak

A single oak stands all alone,

Within a meadow seldom mown,

The last survivor of an ancient wood,

Distant passed and gone for good.

Children play beneath its limbs,

Acting out their childish whims,

Imagining their wildest dreams,

The air is full of all their screams.

A farmer ploughs a nearby  field,

Turning soil to make it yield,

The work is hard full of toil and sweat,

A meager return is all he'll get.

Two lovers lay upon the grass,

Making their very first tentative pass,

Trying out their first embrace,

As they look upon each other's face.

Two joggers run along the track,

That passed the Oak on their way back,

Oblivious to all around, 

As they run by without a sound.

Then darkness falls to conclude the day,

With the setting sun of the month of May,

Nocturnal creatures start to rise,

With the glint of moonlight in their eyes.

The new dawn will soon arrive,

It's still good to be alive,

Another day for all to see,

Within the life of the mighty Oak tree.