The tree was planted the day I was born.
I watered it when I could hold water.
It grew as I grew; my mother would warn.
One day it eclipsed me, caused my laughter.
We still celebrate it's birthday yearly,
Father remembers planting the acorn,
In the soil and my mother so dearly,
The tree was planted the day I was born.


Every new spring fresh leaves burst forth, green!
And with every year I burst anew,
With joy; sadness; revelations unseen.
I have stopped my vertical ascent, true,
Unlike the tree. But I know my growth, still
Internal, silent and to most unseen,
Will continue forever, because still
Every new spring fresh leaves burst forth, green!


As the days dim, the tree becomes forlorn,
Coming of autumn means becoming old,
But first yellow, orange and bright red scorn.
It's time to clear out and welcome the cold.
I await the day the number will change,
And wonder again just why I was born,
To accost the outcast, astride the strange?
As the days dim, the tree becomes forlorn.


One of us will go first, the tree or I.
From old age, or disease, or just misuse.
It is sad, but a fact; we have to die.
I hope when the tree looks back it smiles too.
Nothing more sad than a life of regret.
Nothing more clear, to prize open your eyes.
Always has it been there – I wonder yet...
One of us will go first: the tree or I?

10/19/2007

Posted on 10/20/2007
Copyright © 2024 Richard Fish