The Bramble and the Oak

The wind whispers low through the trees, A mournful song, carried on the breeze. I stand here lost, beneath the oak's might, And wonder if darkness has stolen my light.

Was it a mistake, this path we have trod? A tangled bramble, reaching for God. Did I string you along, a vine so green, When my own future was a landscape unseen?

The country holds you, roots deep and fast, While wanderlust within me is amassed. The children you dream of, a joyful sound, Are echoes I fear, on uncertain ground.

What if I yearn for cities so bright? Or choose a life barren, devoid of all light? Have I painted a picture, lovely and bold, Only to watch it shatter, a story untold?

Each passing season, a question remains, Have I sown only sorrow, and nurtured the pains? This endless cycle of doubt and of fear, Will it blight all our harvests, year after year?

The oak stands tall, with strength in its core, While brambles like me, just scratch and implore. I look to the future, a shadowed design, Have I made our shared future, a poisonous vine?

Oh, nature forgive me, for all of my flaws, For holding you here, with uncertain draws. The questions remain in the air, Did I really care?