In all the years I have walked among oaks ,

I’ve seldom sat and let their allures soak.

With their limbs , on hikes ,I’ve bumped my head.

Roots caught my boot ,on the floor I spread.

Passing glancing nemesis they were.

Today I much prefer ,oak than fir.

Beckoning up close, it got a hug.

When I stroked its textured  limb ,no shrug.

I  took it as an invitation.

Continued without cessation.

Its crackled ridged bark with hand was felt.

My hand on the branch felt nothing svelte.

The oak’s texture's, a rugged appeal.

When you need a hug , its no big deal.