Tangled Oak, how proud you stand, watching your leaves fall with resign
The moss has browned, the grass has frosted and the birds all abandoned your limbs.
In this hour of quiet jilt it’s hard to step back and see design
But you, Oak Tree, stand so tall when all is looking grim. 
 
Sad Oak, pray tell me, doth your roots feel the harsh of frost?
Has the caress of winter’s cold seeped into your centermost rings?
Does your trunk not feel the harsh wind blow and wish for a lesser cost?
A lesser cost for living, a lesser cost for being?
 
Can you feel the flush of the sun kissing the cold from the earth’s floor?
Your squirrels are awake, your leaves will be back and you will once again thrive. 
Put down your worry, and know you will again bloom like you have before. 
Thawed Oak, I can tell you, you’re very much alive. 
 
Relax and let your boughs sigh as they sway gently in the wind.
Enjoy this moment of warm tranquil quiet and soft serenity.
Imprint this vision in your mind, to recall it when life seems dim.
Enjoy what you can until you can’t- and then go on to enjoy it for eternity.