In the desolate garden, a withered oak stands,

Branches entangled, like a heart's shattered plans.

Roots, once deep, now in turmoil and unrest,

A sentinel of passion, emotions unexpressed.

Through seasons of torment, it stands alone,

A testimony to emotions, hearts overthrown.

Storms have ravaged, life's cruel, endless test,

This oak, a mirror of longing, hurt, and unrest.

Its leaves fell in the autumn, in sorrow's embrace,

No spring can revive, no tears can efface.

A symbol of a connection that will never wane,

This oak, a monument to affection's eternal pain.

Through agony and tears, it bears the scars,

Inanimate, it grieves beneath the stars.

This oak stands as a symbol of hearts' strife,

A reflection of a turbulent, tumultuous life.