The Sonnet that Spake Heartbreak.

On this lush crag once stood,

Oak of heaven, born of Jove.

Its roots, before this mood,

Grew hope no gale could move.

Then sudden oak death came,

As a wench after man’s ill.

She swooned and made it lame,

It buckled, could not still.

It did come down with a shrill.

“Father lord!”, it did wail.

But she came with much thrill

“My Holy Mary!”, he would hail.

And the spell she left was broken.

And her spell of love had spoken.

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