I watch the old house all day and night;

I keep my vigil, never leaving my sight.

 

The oak they call me; the oak I may be,

But from birth I have stood here, with nothing unseen.

 

The woman was round, but all so delighted;

The man helped around the house, seeming every bit excited.

 

She cooked them food, while he kissed her belly;

A home full of love, much before the yelling.

 

When the child came, so to the chill;

My leaves did fall, as they sometimes will.

 

The woman had changed; never leaving her bed.

The man tried to comfort by kissing her head.

 

Remaining in bed, she would weep the days away;

The child’s cries unanswered, in his crib he would lay.

 

Until one day, I watch from the yard;

The woman filled her tub with child in arm.

 

Hours went by before she dug the hole;

A tiny grave beneath me, as I stood patrol.

 

When the man made his way home, under my branches he discovered,

the mound with his child; on a rope, his lover.

 

by the house I stand guard, as just a tree;

of the graves beneath me, I now count three.