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The Old Tree
December 4, 2008
On top of a hill stands a tree, a grassy field blows in the wind, birds and bees play and play, lovers sign their names, a tire swing sways and sways, children's songs and voices fill the air, time goes on, moments pass, and seasons change now a days the grass is dead, and the birds and the bees play elsewhere, lovers are lost, their names worn and decayed, now on this tree where children once played and tires once swayed, ashes and smoke are all that lay, songs and voices now all gone, for this is the tree we all once played on.
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