Your leaves have gently fallen.
Scattered on the ground. Bent your branch
is reaching for…
someone to climb up onto your limbs.
Kick and swing and scuffle up.
Laughing as they go.
Here. You say, oak. Here.
Let me help you up.
Lifting us off the ground to be held within your branches.
Looking out at the world you have seen for centuries.
You whisper how it’s changed.
We leave your embrace, changed, too.
Grateful and full. With a sense of calm.
As everything changes…somethings stay the same.
