by Patrick Owens

The oak grew tall
               Twisted and gnarled 
What started out as a sapling
               Growing straight and ready to bloom

Blossoms and limbs growing twisting
               Reaching like human limbs
Time and circumstances
               Weathering storms and hit by lightening

Through it all the little spurts
               Sunshine made things grow
In the end the oak is perfect
               It makes what is meant

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About the Author:

Patrick Owens is an older author who has found his way back. He has previously published a poem in 1996 in Woman’s Day Magazine. His favorite apple is the Granny Smith.