Poetry: The Old Oak Tree

I've done a number of things I regret
Except me for what I am, but respect
What I've become is not the perfect man

Land or lakes it starts to take a toll
This phony roll I play not today it's old
Broken and withered this tree stands before me

Basking in the lights natural glow, and this I know
To be true that life is the driving force
Pumping fuel to those branches embedded in roots

Swaying in the wind, but remaining strong not to topple over
The inner strength of the old oak tree isn't phased by trauma
It stands its ground and won't fall down, solid as a rock