Dear Mr. Oak Tree,

High above the pines

Growing leaves of green and yellow

Free from all confine

What do you whisper every night?

When the wind sings

And matches the tune of your soul?

What would you shout

For all to hear?

If your lips weren’t covered by bark

And your eyes dark as coal?

Perhaps a thousand years from now

You’ll still hear the birds call

Your branches will still sway to the wind

Through all of spring and fall

I think I’d like to be an oak tree

Although I’d be silent

I already am

And atleast I’d be more tall