The English Oak

 

     Fifty gallons a day he needs,

Fifty gallons of life’s richest blessing,

Without it,

     He dies -

Withers and falls,

Alas,

     He no longer grows

Within the sanctuary

Of England’s finest pastures,

For he be a memory

Of countryside and churches,

Villages and steeples,

And it’s peoples

Who claim his plot,

Peoples with axes,

Chainsaws and lacquer,

    

     Fifty gallons a day

To keep nature in harmony,

     Now those trees are gone,

Now the forests have been cut;

Where now does fifty

Gallons seep?

 

Michael J Waite 7th February 2014.