Oak of Old

Oak, Oak, Oak of old,
King of trees in your crown of gold,
You are the door to worlds unseen,
In winter bare and in summer green.

From gold to green and green once more,
Your leaves will turn before they fall,
When twice you’ve worn your golden crown,
Each season’s harvest comes tumbling down.

And when you wear your Autumn crown,
Blue-feathered Jay from your branches sounds,
From cradles high your acorns fall,
So young may grow or to nourish all.

Five hundred years to grow and thrive,
Five hundred more to remain alive,
Shelter for all throughout your reign,
And many thousand lives sustain.

When dark clouds roll across the sky,
When thunder roars and storm winds cry,
All must beware you mighty Oak,
For you may court the lightning stroke.

Your roots grow deep your heart so strong,
Power of the sun to you belongs,
Generous to all as King you stand,
In strength and peace you guard this land.