Michael Edwards

THE OLD OAK

THE OLD OAK

 

In silk brocades, and wigs and breeches,

people gathered for the planting,

bygone glories celebrated,

long forgotten in history’s mist.

 

And in maturity it stood

anchored in the rolling acreage,

spreading shadow’s dappled sheet

beneath its wide and noble form.

 

Weary now, its boughs descending,

wooden props provide support.

Its tree rings shall define its age

which only death discloses.

 

 

 

                             Michael Edwards © April 2015                        

 

Comments5

  • WriteBeLight

    Very nice painting and poem.

  • Christina8

    Beautiful painting and poem! Christina

  • Tony36

    Great write and great picture

  • willyweed

    wonderful work Michael on the poem the painting speaks for it's self. ww

  • Michael Edwards

    Thanks all for your kind comments - Been writing more of late and must get back to the studio.



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