Beneath the live oak tree,
my inner child quietly lays.
She only feels a pain.
The feelings go unnamed.
She only knows a burning desire for embrace.
Yet alone she lays.
Beneath the live oak tree,
shades of green whisper her name.
Leaves drown the yelling.
The live oak tree reaches
its long arms out to cover her face.
They hide her adjudged tears.
Beneath the live oak tree,
She finds moments of safety.
Though they do not last.
A draping canopy,
but the rain still pierces where the leaves break.
She sits comforted in a timber embrace.
Flecks of dirt stroke her face.
I want to hold her closely;
though she is far away.
So, I stand and watch
As she finds much needed solace
Beneath the live oak tree.
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