THE OAK'S OF DODDER VALLEY

The Oaks of Dodder Valley

Silhouettes in the winter’s eve,
On the gentle breeze branches hung
Like arteries in delicate weave,
Their shadows pooled, a tar stained lung.

On the gentle breeze branches hung,
The rings of history fill their limbs,
Their shadows pooled, a tar stained lung,
The rustling shoots like natures hymns.

The rings of history fill their limbs,
Each creak and crack awash with tales,
The rustling shoots like natures hymns
Their voices echo in ships that sailed.

Each creak and crack awash with tales
Like weathered faces, taut with grief,
Their voices echo in ships that sailed,
Stripped bare of bark, of branch, of leaf.

These weathered faces taut with grief,
All knowing, the landscape changed evermore,
Stripped bare like the bark, the branch and leaf,
They all fell like logs on distant shores.

All knowing their landscape changed evermore,
They clung as one, both women and men,
Like the logs that fell on distant shores,
Some faded away, others grew again.

They clung as one both women and men,
Like arteries in delicate weave,
Some faded away, others grew again,
Silhouettes in the winter’s eve.