I love to watch,

The old oak tree,

And count the changes,
I can see.
In summer, leaves,
All green and gay.
Whisper gently,
Come and play.
Autumn comes,
The days grow cold.
The leaves they rustle,
Now, were old.
Then winters here,
The tree is bare.
The leaves have gone,
I dont know where.
But spring arrives,
I look and see.
Brand new buds,
On the old oak tree.
Samuel Ho Jia Wei (5S)