The chanting rose as they circled around

the youthful oak.

the skinny tree, fresh in the ground

the chanters, all in white cloaks,

a beautiful melody swam in the air

a branch extended, and so did the rest.

a few years pass in moments, seconds even

as the tree's life and only its life was turned

A beam of light flooded the tree from broken clouds

the branches whirled and twisted all around

spiraling and then thickened, the trunk did.

the Druid's song, the bardic tune

had matured the oak in years in June.