Oak

My branches are bare

since the confetti of leaves

fell to new beginnings

leaving the last metal taste of autumn in my sap

Another year I've stood solid

weathering the harsh storm

My ancient roots dig deep

ring by ring closer to my ancestors

Wind burnt branches rattle

as acorns crash through

the sharp smell of winter

with a thud on crisp forest floor

Pushing through the darkness into the light

becoming oaklings close by my side

they tell their own story

as seasons come and go