“May I have this dance?”
Said the ancient oak
To the pine-tree grand,
She who never spoke.
“Won’t you move with me?
For our roots are strong,
And we both have seen
Moments far too long.”
Then he held his breath,
Hoping she’d agree.
O! the wait was death
To this wizened tree!
Pine-tree trembled, shy;
Oak resolved to wait.
Let the years go by,
For their love was fate.










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