Oak

I climbed an oak and stayed there
for hours, then days, then weeks,
then months . . . Now years, discovering
tree-living techniques

among the birds and branches
the new leaves then the old
drifting down each autumn
to pave the ground in gold.

People come to ask me
why I chose this way
but even if I knew
I don’t think I would say

since if they all should join me
it wouldn’t be the same
and perhaps I’d lose this happiness
if I could speak its name.

Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Tom Vaughan   would be pleased to hear them