This beautiful old oak is gone now. The victim of high wind.

The oak lies here dying with one of its branches looking skyward.

Its last goodbye to life.

A little girl stands on cutup pieces of the onceMighty oak.

A time to laugh ,a time to cry, a time to live, a time to die.

And so it goes for us, for like the tree, sooner or later we will dieI hope someone sheds a tear for meUnlike the old oak tree, not a soul did cry

Winston W Wallace