I’m small of stature, my years are few,
A little boy yet to go to school,
With a very favorite thing to do.
I have a friend whose years are many.
He stands so tall with arms aplenty,
And in his shade I’m free to rest.
The place he lives is quiet today,
As he tells me stories from long ago.
He tells of ships, wooden and strong,
Treasures and pirates and battles long.
I learn of wagons with canvas tops,
And about the settler’s who walk beside.
Indian’s were their mortal foe,
That must have been many years ago.
Now, grown up, I come to see,
That very special friend to me;
In the forest standing tall,
I find the oak of long ago.
Copyright © 2011 LeRoy Dean All Rights Reserved