Pete's Poem

The oak outside my window stands
With stark arms yielding crooked hands
The broken bark, the fallen limbs
Tell the tale: What once had had been

Such greatness now stands out alone
In midst a field of straw windblown
Where merry grass leaves flutter, sway
To spread the rumors of the day

With every breath the wind does breathe
The wheat does scatter playfully
And midst the life and vibrance stands
The old oak tree with crooked hands.

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