• Growing Old
    I am an oak tree
    With a trunk sturdy from old age
    And branches reaching out to the sky.
    From my lowest branch hangs a rope,
    A board.
    A swing.
    Children find fascination in it,
    As well as happiness.
    It is a gift to me to see them smile,
    But one day they will grow
    As strong and sturdy as I have.

    Now the days come when I wither with old age.
    My leaves fall slowly,
    As if they are mocking me.
    My branches die as many have done before,
    Turning brown as dirt.
    The place where I have stood isn't empty.
    I have been replaced with stick-like roots,
    And a short, swaying trunk.

    -Hayley Rawden