Bury me under an old oak tree,
That stands so proud for all to see.
An eternal place to rest my head,
Free from worries, strife, and dread.
A cooling shade as when a child,
I played beneath so free and wild.
I rest now for all to see,
Buried under an old oak tree.
By Helen See 6/2009
3 comments:
He would have like being in the shade, a good resting place.
Beautiful poem that you wrote mom. Very fitting for where he is.
That beautiful thank you.
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