The Old Oak Now Reclines

now in the sweetness of the fading day when day loses its possessions power glory and the paraphernalia the chains are cut and freedom flows from between the strat straits of the sea-waters that through to the Port of Freedom flow begin to flow as sunset on horizons of sea with land in Africa it falls it falls too the old oak reclines after the rasping of age with leaves sere as white hair and ever-bending head of age and care and sorrow too old, too old the old oak ah! that oak in it was the Inner Soul that be my mother the old oak now reclines now in the sweetness of the fading day when day loses its possessions power glory and the paraphernalia the chains are cut and freedom flows from between the strat straits of the sea-waters that through to the Port of Freedom flow begin to flow as sunset on horizons of sea with land in Africa it falls it falls