Living long, a long Wye,
roots exposed by tide,
limbs held out wide.
A reservoir of memories,
rings to mark the grieving,
the budding, the leaving.
And the years lean over,
gather weight and force,
longing to return to source.
Down in the Spring waters,
Raised up after Fall,
Split open for all.
Ah, smell the Red Oak!
Now fully open in the sun,
see ingrained a life well run.
