Here I sit under a fine oak tree
Its boughs have seen much and more
I'd say it could tell many a merry tale
Of maidens courted by handsome beaus

Mayhap it could tell some sorry tales
Of soldiers in brilliant garb
Shields raised to their wild eyes
Clash of swords 'til death ends all

A king maybe picnicked with all pomp
Under the very boughs of the fine oak
Eyes glazed from much fine wine
Whilst ladies danced around his feet

For sure the oak has seen such sights
'tis sure he'll see many, many more