The Oak King

By Patrick W. Kavanagh, February 7, 2016

Word Count: 191

Rating: G

Summary: A poem of a tree

image1 (8)
Image Credit: Joyce Gibson

Do not fear the dying of the light, for soon the woods will once more echo with delight.

Beneath the autumn’s leaves and winter’s snow, the first, faint glimmerings of spring begin to glow.

Those who live between the worlds can now be felt, as magic flows and swirls.…


The distant sun will creep a little closer every day, and soon the winters chill will seem so very far away.

Your kingdom sleeps, but soon the forests and the fields will waken to your touch.

The tiny tendrils soon will stretch and wriggle, seeking out the warm spring light

The woodlands will resound to all the faery music that you love so much.

Then for a little while, the world will once again forget the long cold winter’s night.

Weep not, noble lord, for soon your restless exile will be done.

The Holly King grows grey and feeble on his barren throne.

You will dance and sing once more beneath the rising springtime’s sun.

And we will light the fires to call you home when winters reign is done.

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