Offerings

Though this is a funny poem. The subjects matter is shameful. 

I am an Oak, mighty tree
Many love and worship me
They come alone and in a group
And offer me these bags of poop.

In bags of colour hung aloft
Upon my branches they do waft
Like baubles on a Christmas tree
It really shows they do love me

And late at night, when there are stars
Devotees come in van and cars
They bring me gifts as they do care
Fridges, a mattress. The odd chair

And when the sun is warm and high
The offerings come from passers-by
Coffee cups and even more
Shows nature. Humans do adore