My Oak Tree

I came to the house
lonely, afraid
looking for something welcoming;
exploring gardens of vines
and old dreams.
Then I saw it standing there,
watching me with its faded eyes and wrinkles.
I walked closer and closer,
starting to climb its strong arms.
It was no skeleton but it was a giant,
lifting me higher until I saw the world.
Buzz!
A bee flew past me,
brushing my hair which was blowing in the wind.
I felt safe, at home and free.
Every day passing, my tree would speak,
with its intimate whispers or old creaks.
Spring passed,
then summer,
then autumn.
Until Winter came along,
stripping my tree bear.
It was still strong and beautiful.
And when I left My Tree,
It wept.
And as we bid farewell,
I wept.