The Old Misty Tree
The Old Misty Tree
The old misty tree stands all on her own
Watching and waiting, forever alone
Once she was young, just a century since
When children with joy, did laughter dispense
When lovers did meet with wine and embrace
Lay under her bows, shed shyness and lace
Yet now she has aged, grown hard and too cold
Seen far too much, with nothing to hold
Her limbs creek and rattle, her leaves flutter dry
Her trunk wide and gnarled, her heart full of sighs
Owls sit high upon her, in deepest of night
Birds nest in her crooks, red feathers a bright
Within her dank holes, squirrels snuggle sweet babes
Wild nature abounds in the cool of her shade
The years she has seen, the ages gone by
The sorrows she knows, the reasons she cries
She’s been there for many and seen them all die
She’s questioned and wondered and asked her God why
Why a tree must grow old, and stand through the years
When all else that sprouts must soon disappear
If only she could, she’d pass from this earth
Rest and then sleep while others are birthed
Yet stand she still must, till her time of release
When she too can find silence, darkness and peace
So know you know why, when you pass her by
Why her brown leaves weep misty, when the skies, they are dry
Tim Wilkinson & Wayne Wilks
