Under the Old Oak Tree
Under the Old Oak Tree
When I’ve said my last word,
And breathed my last breath,
Take to me that old oak tree
On the small hill overlooking
The field in back of the house.
As the limbs of the tree grow,
So will the memories as the
Colors of the season change,
And the fields bear the fruit
Of the harvest of the crops.
From the hill, I would be
Able to see the people I once
Loved in life continue to
Grow in the knowledge that
There is life after death.
To read this poem in Spanish, click here.