The Mighty Oak

As I gaze upon this wondrous sight, bitter scars of life I see,
this mighty oak that God did make, this tall majestic tree.

High up there among the leaves, a twisted limb peeks through,
no doubt some old and ugly scar, from a heavy wind that blew.

Just like this old and rugged tree, I bear the scars of life,
from battles fought, through raging hell, and my own internal strife.

Like roots set deep in solid ground, to hold its lofty height,
I made a choice for where I stood, and fought the bitter fight.

This mighty oak is near its end, but memories do abide,
  of all the lives that shared its shade, and a place to play and hide.

It does not seek nor beg from God, more days and weeks to be,
for it knows within its depths, only God can make a tree.

This mighty oak has shown me how, to stand before my God,
with chin held high, and shoulders back, to seek God’s final nod.

I fought to keep my country safe, from the bloody dogs of war,
and soon I’ll rest within God’s arms, a warrior’s life no more.