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The Oak - by Sheila Blair
The oak's icy outline,
Etched against the sky,
Winter's cold has stripped it bare,
Naked to the eye.
Sitting in the snow,
Beside this tall, strong friend,
There's warmth, steady comfort,
Promise the storm will end.
Inside the massive trunk,
A river of life flows,
Winter cold gives way to spring,
Hope of rebirth grows.
In the sun, a bud appears,
Unfolding a velvety leaf,
A new season arrives from patience,
Wisdom, and true belief.
Underneath the shady boughs,
The oak's rejoicing splendor,
Forget the blizzard's bitter touch,
The surviving bond, remember.
Etched against the sky,
Winter's cold has stripped it bare,
Naked to the eye.
Sitting in the snow,
Beside this tall, strong friend,
There's warmth, steady comfort,
Promise the storm will end.
Inside the massive trunk,
A river of life flows,
Winter cold gives way to spring,
Hope of rebirth grows.
In the sun, a bud appears,
Unfolding a velvety leaf,
A new season arrives from patience,
Wisdom, and true belief.
Underneath the shady boughs,
The oak's rejoicing splendor,
Forget the blizzard's bitter touch,
The surviving bond, remember.
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