Oh there's a handsome little oak
Who's branches make me flutter
I think of him all the time
Because after my mother died
He said "Oh friend don't you worry your pretty little leaves,
She's been chopped at for the last time,
Her skin will live on
And keep people warm and our hearts with fill with love"
Since then I've shook with the wind and hoped
My gentle dance would receive his firm good looks
But he only stood still and grew old
So I cried.
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