The Solitary Oak

In Louisiana, I met a tree,  

A live-oak standing tall and free.  

Its mossy drape, a noble cloak,  

Yet, oh, it seemed a lonely oak.  

With joyous leaves of deep dark green,  

Its solitude was sharp, serene.  

I wondered how it stood so proud,  

Without a friend, without a crowd.  

I broke a twig with leaves so fair,  

And twined some moss with tender care.  

I brought it home, a keepsake small,  

To place upon my humble wall.  

It doesn’t need to remind me much,  

Of friends I love, of friends I touch.  

Yet still, it stays, a token bright,  

Of manly love, of oak’s firm might.  

For though that oak stands all alone,  

It never feels the chill of stone.  

But I, who thrive with others near,  

Could never bear to be so clear.  

So there it glistens in the sun,  

A solitary, steadfast one.  

Yet I know well, I’m not that tree,  

I need a friend to stand by me.