This Old Tree
A little something that I wrote during a writing block. I was going to get into the seasonal spirit, but that derailed quite quickly as you can see.
I saw it for the first time when I set my paws in our yard
Still as if dead yet so alive and green
I tip toed over to it and introduced myself,
"Hello, I'm Max, what's your name?"
If it could give an answer
this old thing certainly didn't choose
but I sat under it and waited and waited,
as if I believed the world could speak out
in the tongues of our kind,
in intricate sounds and syllables.
Days passed before I realised
just how well a climber I was
One paw at a time, I crept into its depths.
Perched high from above, I felt as though
I had conquered gravity itself
even as I fell to the earth.
Years pass, yet I sit under this old tree still
Never uttering a word, yet always willing to listen
My thoughts, My problems, My world.
It never judged me, or so it never chose to
even while confessing to it a truth
that the world so chose to hate.
This old tree was witness
when my parents moved in all those years ago
when I grew up from cub to adult
Little did I know that it would too become witness
when I pulled a ring out hidden from my pocket
and proposed to another guy.