Oak Moon

The century oak, rugged and gaunt, Holds high to-day, as he was wont A hundred years ago, his head, Hoary with snows that have vanished, Defiant and grim to the winds wild taunt. The hooting owl finds here a haunt, And feathered choristers now chaunt As when the centurys dawn made red The century oak. No seasons coil his heart can daunt; Processive years their changes vaunt, But, constant till the line have fled And mouldered in oblivions bed, He holds his own, rugged and gaunt, The century oak. Harvey Carson Grumbine Oak bark, tree sap, wild acorns, and a touch of honey. Art by Drew Rausch!