There stands upon a high hill, a mighty oak.
Its trunk rough and scarred,
yet standing as an impregnable tower.
And the branches spread their wings of freedom,
at the sight of the blue sky.
On its countless leaves are written
winters and summers that will come,
and yet are gone forever.
Beneath all,
are the roots of the tree,
which cling too tightly to the tear-drenched soil.
The tree stands tall on the hill,
as a keeper of days gone by,
and days yet to be.

By Omar Binno