The Old Oak Tree
Sitting under the old oak tree
Lilting branches shelter me
From the scorching midday sun
A gentle, cooling breeze
An occasional, fleeting hum
The sound of roaming bees
Radiant flowers, birds and trees
So much beauty, I can hardly breathe
Wispy clouds dot the sky
I close my eyes and sigh
For the first time in a long time
I'd experienced real serenity
Sitting under the old oak tree
July, 2015
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