THE TENDER OAK
By: Darrelyn L. Tutt
She stood amidst the forest deep,
In stature very small;
Shadowed by the older trees,
That towered over all.
Her little shadowed leafy head,
She bowed in humble state;
And wondered what it must be like,
To grow in stature great:
To meet the sky and bare a form,
Magnificent and true;
To greet and feel the daily sun,
The way that some could do.
And as she pondered over this,
The skies began to gray;
As stormy gusts and forceful winds,
Began to make their way.
How the winds beat cruel and strong,
As trees fell all around;
Large and lofty stately forms,
Came crashing to the ground.
Stripped and broken snapping boughs,
Resounded through the night;
The tender, tired little oak,
Hung on with all her might.
Morning came and stillness passed,
And all was rearranged;
The little oak looked all about,
With eyes and vision changed.
Stormy gusts had taken down,
The lofty and the high;
Uprooted trees could now be seen,
With roots that looked so dry.
“How can it be,” she asked aloud,
“The trees that towered tall,
Could not withstand the gusty winds,
That now have made them fall?”
An elder tree looked down upon,
The tender little oak;
“One’s size does not determine,
What you stand against,” he spoke.
“For storms are surely bound to come,
And winds will steady blow;
Enduring strength is only found,
In roots … that deeply grow.”
“Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope is the Lord.
For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, which spreads out its roots by the river.
And will not fear when heat comes; but its leaf will be green,
And will not be anxious in the year of drought, nor will cease from yielding fruit.”