Wise Oak

In the heart of the forest, where shadows intertwine,
Stands an old oak tree, its roots deep in time.
Its gnarled branches reach for the sky above,
A guardian of secrets, wisdom, and love.

Beneath its weathered bark, stories reside,
Of seasons passing, storms weathered with pride.
A thousand whispered tales, etched in rings,
The wise oak remembers all that life brings.

Oh, the wise oak, sentinel of the wood,
Keeper of memories, misunderstood.
Leaves rustle like ancient scrolls unfurled,
As it sings to the moon in the silent world.

Through centuries, it's seen kingdoms rise and fall,
Watched lovers meet, heard the raven's call.
Its leaves, like parchment, bear the weight of years,
A living library of joy, sorrow, and tears.

When the moon weeps silver tears at night,
The wise oak murmurs secrets, bathed in light.
It imparts courage to the lost and forlorn,
Guiding wanderers home before the dawn.

Oh, the wise oak, sentinel of the wood,
Keeper of memories, misunderstood.
Leaves rustle like ancient scrolls unfurled,
As it sings to the moon in the silent world.

And when the final autumn breeze sweeps by,
The wise oak will whisper its last goodbye.
But fear not, dear traveler, for its spirit remains,
In every rustling leaf and the forest's refrains.

The Wise Oak, a ballad of ages untold,
A symphony of roots, branches, and gold.
May its wisdom echo through eternity,
In the heart of the forest, forever free.
