My Conversation With The Mighty Oak Tree

Today was crisp and clear.
But a slight nip was in the air.
Decided to steal a few hours.
I grabbed a chair to sit over there.

Found a spot under the mighty oak.
In shade under it's whispering leaves.
I thought I heard a low voice.
Just wind swirling around my knees.

I heard it again loud and clear.
I looked around but no one is there.
It said "Robert", I heard from the tree.
This tree is talking to me I swear.

I heard your poem you wrote of me.
I liked the words that you wrote.
I read of the history I lived through.
More to it though, so please take note.

It’s been touch and go, don't you know.
In my young days, I was not as grand.
I was here when Lincoln was President.
Cattle herds were grazing this land.

You wrote of the Alamo falling.
To burnt embers this land was turning.
My brothers were dying around me.
But rains came snuffing the burning.

I played a part in your civil war.
Union soldiers took over the square.
The horses tied up in my shade.
But Tidwell ran them out of there.

While Orville made his first flight.
Stretching from Florida to Tennessee.
Was a new railroad track coming through.
Men with saws were all around me.

I thought, oh no, this is it.
All this time I have stood.
But land was cheaper a bit west.
So they ran it through the town of Kenwood.

I remember your town council.
Wanted to put a useless road through here.
They were just lining their pockets.
My owner fought to keep this land clear.

I’ve weathered strife and storms.
I have these cuts and bruises you see.
I also have my own history to write of.
While your history unfolded around me.

I like our talk we just had.
Come here anytime and sit with me.
I know your dog Bingo is buried here.
I feel like I'm part of the family.

R. S. Morris