An oak tree

 

I wrote a ring of words just now

and folded it away

because it feared the light and the night

and all the blue and misty things

that beset words out alone.

Words must be strong and straight

tall as oak trees broad as oceans

and they must have a heart that beats

to the rhythm of the dying day

the rising sun

and the dancing of hares

in the moonlight.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

7 thoughts on “An oak tree”

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