A Ghazal for the Oak

A Ghazal for the Oak

The afternoon shadow by the oak tree,

The flight of a swallow by the oak tree.

By the old wood fence he pitches his tent

On a field that’s fallow by the oak tree.

The sound of a creek, the peace that she seeks,

At a mountain hollow by the oak tree.

Thrown from his home he is begging alone,

There’s nothing to borrow by the oak tree.

An ancient boulder doesn’t look older,

It’s the same tomorrow by the oak tree.

A brief solitude sometimes comes to you,

There’s nothing to follow by the oak tree.

My name’s Wilson, I’m basking in the sun,

There’s an end to sorrow by the oak tree.