For he who leans upon the ancient tree
In future’s shade, a thousand years from now
Will you engage a wrinkle in your brow
And ponder ore’ the death of fallen leaves?
Are we so not alike in fairness gained
Or time might choose to forge us enemy?
Would cloak, or hair, or skin, a different blend
Invite those eyes to shun away from me?
If first, those born, have greater weight to bear
Or yours, one day, the lift more heavy lot
Each step by step, we travel blind and torn
Do crossroads come the same or some are not?
Will one day find you leaning by a tree
And find a stone beneath the powdered dust
And wonder if it once belonged to me
To think it bone, or questions turned to rust?