A Guard of Oak

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.








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