The century oak, rugged and gaunt,
Holds high to-day, as he was wont
A hundred years ago, his head,
Hoary with snows that have vanished,
Defiant and grim to the wind’s wild taunt.
The hooting owl finds here a haunt,
And feathered choristers now chaunt
As when the century’s dawn made red
The century oak.

 

No season’s coil his heart can daunt;
Processive years their changes vaunt,
But, constant till the line have fled
And mouldered in oblivion’s bed,
He holds his own, rugged and gaunt, –
The century oak.
– Harvey Carson Grumbine

 

Oak bark, tree sap, wild acorns, and a touch of honey.

 

Art by Drew Rausch!