An Ode to the Oak Trees

There were four of them,

four oaks that greeted me.

One at the end of my garden,

the one I fondly named Henry.

He was there through all the seasons,

the refuge when we got weary.

Along the way at the end of the street,

in this ode, I must include,

Bernhart, who was the first

I saw as I went on my way.

Just before the store,

two friends always greeted me,

the oaks I named -

Alfonse and Peter.

Right opposite the store,

was the lovely Friedrich,

always ready to see me.

Missing the oak trees,

that I gathered strength from.

that greeted me on the path I walked.

Lush and green in summer splendor,

they stood as I went by.

Not caring that another autumn

was drawing near,

because even as their leaves turned brown and yellow –

they went dancing upon the north wind.

Wintertime brought frosty, silvery bare branches,

blown from the winter snow

and in frozen splendor, the oaks waited for spring.

Came the joy of songbirds trilling

and succulent, new leaves bursting forth.

Once again greeting the new summer in lush and green rapture

and I know they remember my time with them –

sending greetings upon the winds of change to me.