I Write Poetry

Within an ancient forest,
Stands a great and mighty oak,
Buried deep among its roots,
The bones of a man whose heart had broke,

in this place long before,
In the age of man's lost youth,
He awaited a fairest maiden,
To express his feelings of lovers truth,

In sun and rain, wind and snow,
From weeks to months to seasons,
Still he sat steadfast and sturdy,
His faith beyond mere mortal reason,

Stoic he stood through a daze of days,
Yet still she had not came,
Though his body dead and gone,
His love stayed eternal strong,
For the seed in his heart will remain,

The seed was sewn a sapling grown,
From a heart that would not sway,
So rests the man beneath the tree,
And forever there he'll stay.