As I solemnly sway to the rhythm of the breeze,
My left branch snaps,
It snaps so sharply my attention follows,
I can see my leaves follow in the wind’s beat.

On the other side of me I can make out a small squirrel,
Chomping away at my acorn,
Which has fallen down from my leafy top,
As I can sense the season soon approaching.

I soon shall shed all that has become so familiar,
The brightly colored leaves with their brittle stems,
The large brown acorns that knock to the ground,
And are quickly stolen away by these scavengers.

I still sway, and sway, and sway
The breeze so soft against my rough bark,
Old with wear and age,
For I have stood here since the start of time.

A man walks by, toting the golden dog,
His hair faded to grey, shining with silvery streaks of his past,
I have seen this man with his wrinkled brow,
And soft smile,
For this man was once a boy,
Who toted a golden pup,
Whose hair was once a shining brunette.

I cannot complain,
For standing this width of time,
I have seen all and all have seen me,
For I am just a simple and very old tree.