The old oak tree was standing there,
Oh it was standing mighty great, and tall.
Children playing under the mighty boughs fair,
Not wishing to go inside at all.

Once a little acorn, that a squirrel buried deep,
Hid underneath the ground for none to see:
Whence came a little twig, then into a sapling did creep,
That grew into a wondrous, grand old tree.

The great old boughs are sagging a little now,
From winds and storms and swings, hanging free.
It's hurdled hundreds of years of weathering somehow,
And from a little acorn came this old oak tree.

Many are the sweethearts, the old oak could vow,
Came underneath "a courting" you see,
On a bench hanging with chains, from a grand old bough,
From this mighty, wonderful old oak tree.

Copyright © Pearlie Duncan Walker
July 25, 1999
In remembrance of the oak tree in our yard
when I was eight years old in Hardeman County Tennessee

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