The oaks are evergreen

Consider them infants again,  feed a buffer of consolation
from this wretched place

As if they have not fought through each year, and stayed
as if I am not a newborn, a sapling

 there is no space for pity
or barren words, listen instead, be keen to learn
to witness this vigour 

I need not be crude or charming, 
don’t worry  - the oaks are evergreen