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
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