Old Trees

The brush which paints the sky each day Has also drawn the distant hills Where many flowers bloom in May And nature offers verdant thrills. A playful child once sought the shade Of an old oak and poplar tree; He’s the same man who craves the glade Once his mundane ambitions flee. He walked through life while chasing dreams Which all belonged to other men. Now that his time has passed, he seems Inclined to be a child again. He often walks in his old age And stops for rest upon the bench Where, once, his dreams were set to stage And leafy shade his troubles quenched. His hurried years have passed away And the old trees are all that’s left. He weeps and wants another May When a small child in their shade slept. Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com