Moss swept roots and leafless limbs,
the mighty tree stands bare
and without shame;
it knows no sin.
Scarred by lightning strikes
and lovers’ hearts, graceful
in the harshest wind, it stands its ground
In younger days I scaled its heights;
we both had greener limbs
back then, and all those years
I was away
it kept on growing.
Oblivious to encroaching trends,
it resisted blight and storm, surviving
youth with fickle hearts
and even their return. New children
climb upon it now. Their hours of play
will make a poem
when old memories come calling, clad
in mossy verdigris.