OAK TREE

I am an oak tree. 
I am large, solid. 
Quercus. Astonishing really, I am a little quirky. 
My wood is hard, strong. 
I am resistant to attack by parasites, so I am so infinitely useful. 
Easily recognisable, I stand out of the crowd. 
I am a symbol of endurance. 
Infinite complexity has shaped my years of enduring. 
My roots dig deep into the earth, 
searching, gathering further complexity and aiding in my growth. 
I hardly need watering. I can stand on my own. 
And yet,
you wouldn't choose an oak to adorn your garden.
You would choose something more delicate,
a birch maybe, or a flower that will die the first time temperatures soar. 
At the end of the day,
strength and endurance are not what people want in their gardens.
They want a waif like, weak tree they have to nurture, invest in, take infinite care of. 
I stand, I wait. 

I burn with the same intensity when flames lick my limbs,
I break along the same lines as other woods. 
My leaves rage in the storm the same as other trees. 
I just reliably stand the morning after. 
I don't want to be a fragile flower, 
or a birch tree that dies in the Australian climate. 
But I do want to adorn a special garden. 
I wait, and endure, as is customary for me. 
Another season, another year.