Sacred fibres of the grandest oaks,
that reached far into the sky,
So great as sunlight might choke,
On your mighty branches high.
How far you’ve fallen now,
Among the shallow stumps,
And all the weeds you’ve let avow
Once impenetrable trunks.
But for the days when in your shade,
Would bloom the vibrant flower,
Of virtue strong, and empire made,
And once unbridled power.
While every sprout and seed lays claim,
To your sacred land of birth,
But burns in you, a righteous flame,
Through every speck and mound of earth.
No matter how gnarled your branches,
Nor withered your leaves and trunk,
You’ve dealt in grimmer chances,
And many threats, you’ve sunk.
So keep your wits about you,
Aim ever to the sky,
And maybe you’ll yet see,
A summit twice as high.