My Friend, The Tree

When my parents first moved here,
The tree was young and tall.
They build the house right next to it,
With him peeking into the hall.

As the years went floating by,
I started to grow up.
I made friends with the tall pine tree,
And together we played a lot.

When I was about the age of ten,
My friend was taller than the house.
I loved to climb up his branches,
And watch my dog that looked as small as a mouse.

I would sit in his branches and read a book,
Go back in time to when.
Dinosaurs, Pirates, and Black Knights,
Fought battles; lost and won.

I loved the breeze in my hair,
The tickle of the needles on my back.
Together some days, we would sit and wait,
For the sun to peek out with its first rays.

I made a swing off one of his branches,
I hope he didn’t mind.
Carved my initials in his trunk,
To show people he was mine.

Then one day, I had to leave,
To go to collage and learn.
I would have taken him with me,
If he could have stayed in my dorm.

Four grueling years, packing my brain,
With seemingly useless stuff.
Finally I finished and got my degree,
And went home saying,” Enough is enough!”

When I got home, my tree was there,
Opening his branches to me.
We sat and talked for long hours,
About what went on while I wasn’t here.
I could still see my initials,
Scratched onto the bark.
The branches the rope had rubbed,
Where I once had sat and swung myself.

But to my sorrow, my old friend died,
Torn down from the wind.
I kept the part where I had signed,
In my room and in my heart.

It’s been many years since he died,
And I haven’t ever had.
A friend like him, to tell my secrets,
And talk, about everything.

8/7/2006