The Oak Tree by Louise Senderowich

The days are long,
but the years are short.
The worries lay heavy,
whilst the laughter is light.
The racing makes us faster,
not quicker in response to our needs.
The baskets are full
with empty promises,
The checklists point us inwards,
the self-berating is cyclical,
the raging is inevitable.
Such that we miss the sign posts
of beauty,
under the watchful eye of the oak tree,
standing steady,
waiting for you to blossom
and discover your way home.

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