Veils of Spanish Moss clothe the oak tree,
Like the ripped clothes of a widow
Mourning her loss.

Once, it was a mighty oak,
Its branches reaching toward the sky
Proud, strong, ever green.

Coy, timid, the Spanish Moss made its presence known,
Asked the proud tree
To decorate its branches, if it may

Gallantly, the oak accepted;
It will be an ornament
To show off its beauty to the world

Little it knew
The weeping Spanish Moss
Was lethal poison

Within a few years, the tree died
Its green branches reduced to broken limbs
Its luscious green leaves, long departed.

In the end, the Spanish Moss
Took over, covered the tree's naked branches
And ornamented the dead tree.

Rea- Silvia Costin, P.E.