In the forest dotted amongst the plentiful growth of soft black ash
Are the oak trees hard and strong.
They bound together at the entrance opening up my path
And then stand sentinel to guide me home
When the path comes to an end.
Their arms reach wide guiding
Through the rising sun,
Or moonlight evening sky.
Onward they say when the path has just begun,
And homeward when feet grow tired and weary.
They always stand the tallest,
Proud and straight
Determined to be the first each day to reach out for the sun
Amongst the ash they stand few and far between
Kings amongst their men.
