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.