Tree

I long to be at peace like old trees,

Swaying in a hurried breeze, with such ease.

Rolling side to side with no cares in mind,

Taking each blow so stately and kind.

As the wind whips each limb around, the dead are lost;

Tired branches and leaves are taken away, far from home.

Never to be found.

Leaning back they allow each harsh gust

In them, they put their trust;

Losing what they once nurtured and loved,

If it’s time to be blown over; They choose never to stand back up,

And go back to where they once stood; No.

They rest in the grounds in which they came,

Watching their friends eventually do the same.

How beautiful life can be, when we live like the trees.

The tall and sturdy will eventually fall, just as us all.

And when I do; I hope to just as easily.