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Dear little bud of the cherry tree,
Sing us a song of the wood.
We have searched far and wide for a bud like thee,
So sing us a song if you could.

There are many a song I can weave for you,
Each one as dull as the last.
But there is one that follows the defiant two,
And shows us a view of the past.

They lived on the rocks by us cherry trees,
In a land that was split into two.
The cliffs they were formed by the ocean breeze,
And the people were hardy and few.

On one side you had us old cherry trees,
On the other the forest of old.
And on our side we had the seas,
And the village that was oh so bold.

The villagers dreamed of a life beyond,
The cliffs and the rugged old seas.
But there were two who found themselves fond,
Of us and those dark-oaken trees.

Everyday they would come up and speak to me,
I would tell them of days long ago.
When the people were all running free,
And came back without any a woe.

So these kids, they went off for some merriment,
And down to the forest of old.
But the men and the women did lament,
For they knew that the children were told.

“The forests were not for the merriment”
The village had come to find out.
“The land had made its own armament
To push the old villagers out.”

The kids, they did not take heed by these words,
They lept and they pranced through the glade.
They talked with the trees that lived in the woods,
And listened to what they did bade.

“Oh children of cherry and sea breeze,
Come to us now and again.
We will teach thee of what it means to be free.
So come by tomorrow again.”

And the children, they came to the forest once more,
Where the trees had bid them to be.
They left their two houses down by the shore,
To speak with the old oaken tree.

“Come now you children of the sea breeze,
Come now you cherry bud youth.
I have here a word, a message for thee,
So listen to our oaken born truth.”

“You have lived in the village all of your life,
But know little of how it grew.
Your ancestors lived in toil and strife,
After the death of the Oaken-Born few.”

“They were hung, they were beat, they were dehumanized,
By those who had come from afar.
Their beliefs had been stripped, they had been patronized,
But they could not beat the Oaken-Born Bar.”

“The Oaken-Born Bar was a clan of two,
Mighty they were both told to be.
They kept the beliefs of their people so true,
With the help of us Oaken trees.”

“One day the villagers took up the hunt,
For they forgot of their Oaken-Born tie.
The villagers set up along the green front,
And hoped beyond hope they won’t die.”

“It was an army of twenty versus a squadron of two,
But the Oaken-Born had us on their side.
We held for a week or a month or two,
Before the villagers started turning the tide.”

“Their advances, they came not one at a time.
It was one from the left and the right.
The night of our fall they broke our front line,
We were unready to fight.”

“The Oaken-Born fought with the rage of a storm,
The villagers fought with such zeal.
Us trees we fought with the vines and our forms,
And the night was filled with us plant and their steel.”

“One Oaken-Born fell, and the other did cry,
He then fought with the strength of a bear.
But no matter how hard he fought or did try
The villagers were always there.”

“The Oaken-Born yelled with the voice of the Gods,
His strength, it was waning fast.
Yet he lept and he swung against all the odds,
Until his endurance had run itself past.”

“With one final swing, he let the sword drop,
And he looked up at us oaken trees.
With a smile that held as the villagers chopped,
For he knew now that he would be free.”

With that the old oaken tree ended his tale,
And looked out at the children with a glint in his eyes.
He thought to himself “These children won’t fail,
To do what we need of them,” so he let out a sigh.

“Oh children of the sea and cherry bloom,
We oaken must bid thee a task.
To burn and pillage that old village soon,
Please won’t thee do as we ask?”

The children accepted the old oaken tree’s terms,
For they felt their Oaken-Born ties.
And so they made their way home through the bush and the ferns,
Weaving and scheming up lies.

On their way back home they passed by us cherry trees,
I bid them to speak of what they did learn.
They said they have learned to be free,
And how the village will burn.

With that they took their leave from us cherry trees,
And moved onto the village of old.
With flame in hand and villager’s pleas,
They took up the task that they had sowed.

We watched from our cliff on the ocean side,
As the children of oak did their deed.
The dust was washed out with the tide,
And the children formed the Oaken-Born Creed.

So children of oak and of cherry breeze,
I have sung you a song of the wood.
Take this tale back to your forest of old oaken trees,
Would you do that for us if you could?