The Old Man and the Tree

I came across a frail old man, Who was sitting by a tree. He seemed quite untroubled, And said "hello" to me. "Have you sat here long" I asked He said, "eighty years young lad" I said "have you really" (Thinking was this old man mad.) "This fine tree," he said, "It's my oldest friend This is where I come to think, Or have some time to spend." "Many, many years ago My father grew this tree. So all throughout my life It has grown with me". "It grew as I went to war, Young, and full of life. It was a favourite place For me and my wife." "It has watched my children Become adults, and all leave. It has seen my losses, So it has seen me grieve." "It has seen me as a boy And it sees me now. This will be my resting place, Beneath my favourite bough." As I took my leave of him And I bade him goodbye, I could barely speak For tears, welled in my eyes.