The Oak Tree

A sower went out to sow. The seeds he threw were oak seeds. Some fell among rocks. They sprung up and died, having no roots. Some landed on the path and they sprung up, but they died being crushed by people's feet. Some fell among the blackberry's, died choked, and from lack of sunshine.

Lastly there was some that fell among good soft ground. They sprung up, and grew. Many just wanting to grow didn't dig their roots deep enough into the ground. Others dig in deep.

Sometime along the way a great storm came and knocked many down who hadn't dug their roots deep enough.

There was others who had lived without a scratch. Now there had been many oaks who had being badly beaten by the storm, and who didn't have deep enough roots. Many who were beaten fell down broken. Many hung on by a thread. Others like me swayed in the balance. After the storm, I decided to straighten up and dig down deep and spread my roots wide. Others did not.

Many little storms followed. Yet I still hung in there. My roots were deep and spread. Then came the biggest storm I have ever behold. It tore my leaves from my branches, and it stripped the dirt from my top roots. It tore some of my big branches off, and broken bits from the big tree that was sheltering me slapped at me and tore off more of me. I refused to come down. I knew my roots would hold.

When the storm died down, I stood there weeping, my branches drooped. I hurt so bad I wasn't sure if I could stand straight again. After a few days of gently falling rain, and soft sweet sunshine I noticed my branches seemed to come up by themselves.

When I stopped thinking about me I noticed many oaks had come down. Mostly the ones who had not dug their roots in deep. I felt sad. I wished they had thought to do what I had done.

Autumn followed and I was quite surprised to see my leaves curl up and die. They were so pretty, but yet they were dead. I watched with sadness as they dropped off, Or blew away in the warm Autumn breeze.

Not long after that some very cold days followed. The older oaks called it Winter. It was always cold, and the wind seemed to blow all the time. The days seemed so dreary and long. I hardly ever saw the sun. I hardly ever saw the grass. It was mud, snow, rain, hail, and mist.

Finally after that long dreary Winter, came spring. Flowers sprung up everywhere, and my leaves grew anew again. I saw the warm sunshine, and the days seemed to fly by. I loved life. My roots were buried deep underneath the ground, and they were spread wide. No storms could put me over. No longer. Not ever.