The Oak and the Musician

The oak in the field stands warm in the sun,
And music flutters up to his old ear,
And the day sighs around him, gently young,
And a wandering musician grows near.
The musician coaxes his load up the grass track,
And the bees flit around his heavy head,
And he breathes past the oak with his pack,
To the quiet spot so his bag to shed.
He reaches the high summit and reviews
The land and he sees that he is alone.
So he gets his guitar, takes off his shoes,
And begins to play some music of his own.
The man sits down and sings his thoughts away,
Crying to the earth on which he now rests,
Yearning for the notes with which he may say
How his heart hunts for company.
Yet none hear save the tree and its lonely way.
The oak stands in the field, warm in the sun,
And the melodies that he hears are soft,
And the day sighs around him, gently young,
Whilst the wandering musician sets off.