Stopping to Think

Lone scrub oak, among the stones No trees for miles, but here you grow Among the rolling, broken hills Land untamed, devoid of frills There's grass around, and flowers, too Deep green and gold against the blue Rocks hewn, not by a mortal man But by Creator's omnipotent hand Grey clouds conceal the ev'ning sun Its daily course, the light has run  As hours flee you're left to stand Lone oak, the solitary man This isn't the tree I was thinking of, but close enough.