I'm staring down this old tree I've found
with blossoms blooming in and out and I wish for
something to blow them away.
Life seems to be changing slow and steady.
I think it's time and now I'm ready for this
old tree to wither and fade.
So I go down and say goodbye, and there's not enough time.
I wish I had enough to say, you're beautiful. Don't fade away.
I'm staring down this new chair I've found
and it's color's good and it's structure's sound
and I bought it the very next day.
The old man said it's from that tree cut down,
and he couldn't just burn it out of the ground,
so he made this chair just for me.
Some things last and some things fade,
a memory of smells and and thickened shade,
but even death can make one see.