The Old Man Cries
A big old oak tree we fondly call
"The old man" stands in our backyard.
He watches over us and all we do,
a hundred years he's been standing guard.
Like tears his leaves begin to fall,
they start to cover the ground.
The old man softly cries, winter,
his tears fall all around.
He has no more tears left to shed and
"The old man" looks sad standing there.
His outstretched branches are like spindly
fingers of limbs that now are so bare.
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