My oak tree wear a birdhouse
like a locket on a limp.
He loves to hold the birds.
They always sing to him.
He sways in time to songs of sky
imagines travels over land.
But he is rooted to the earth.
An oak tree must forever stand.
Birds sing worldly melodies
as round his leaves they dainty-dart.
Oak tree will never leave this place.
He holds his locket near his heart.