It’s not often I take your trail anymore but I heard you calling,
so I packed my gear and in your direction I started hauling.
The recently trodden foot path led me, just like I remembered,
and now you stand so lovely you young red oak, much too lovely to be so encumbered.
Your leaves have all fallen, I thought the weight had been shed,
why do you look at me with such joy, and yet, dread?
Look what I brought you, an amaranthine light to get you through the night,
and my most ardent blanket to faithfully keep you toasty and tight.
I don’t mind camping, I have enough insulation to maintain my own heat,
summer gets me though; I’ll need your shelter when the sun is at its peak.
Tis so far in the future, why think out that far,
for now my dear friend, we must focus on handling your scars.
I’d come more often if I could, but the path’s endearing meandering is here and now too slow.
My own selfish desires need more time to trace the stripes of your bark of which only I know.
I could hack my way, yeah, I could forge a new path,
howbeit, my tools would need so much sharpening after our journey’s previous wrath.
I’ve seen your colors during the fall and the spring,
and I know you’ll return to them; the forest’s birds will once again sing.
Who knows, maybe I’ll come early next fall when the chilly margin of the sky is filling with hues,
But what if, what if, you’ve grown so tall and have branches so wide, I no longer recognize you?