Under the old oak tree

The thick, gnarled branches droop,

Heavy with the weight of promises and memories,

Once learned, never forgotten.

When the last leaf falls,

The gentle breeze comforting its graceful descent,

Winter is welcomed.

The tree's roots,

Now covered in a blanket of snow as white as milk,

Weave in and out of one another erratically.

A dense layer of moss covers the tree's thick trunk,

As though it's been taped into place,

And left to remain there for years to come.

I wait, beneath the overhanging boughs,

Those that block my view of the star speckled sky,

And protect me from the pierce of winter's breath.

I wait, til the sky turns from black to pink and gold,

Until the birds sing their joyful tune,

And the sun replaces the moon in a new day full of new hope.

I wait, for the dancing fog to slip away,

For the frost, icy and merciless, to melt like a flickering candle,

And the lurking creatures to disappear.

Here I wait,

Under the old Oak tree.


• By Georgia Budd, Year 10, Wakatipu High School

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