Beneath the ancient, sprawling boughs, we wander,
Where whispers of the past in shadows ponder.
The Oak of Sherwood stands with stories old,
Its leaves a tapestry of legends told.

In twilight’s gentle embrace, it murmurs low,
Echoes of Robin Hood’s gallant show.
The forest breathes with tales of yore,
The Oak, a guardian of folklore.

Its roots entwined in earth’s deep lore,
Stretching back to days of yesteryore.
A sentinel of time, steadfast and grand,
Anchoring history in the land.

Through seasons’ dance and tempest’s rage,
It stands a testament from age to age.
The Oak of Sherwood, in steadfast grace,
Holds the essence of a timeless place.