The Giving Tree
Silence flows through the air oh so cold
sitting there waiting a young man so old,
asking for love
Asking to see,
Asking to feel,
and asking to breathe,
Never a clue to where he was sitting
on top of his love he keeps on forgetting
but how can one sit and how can one wonder
a future alone, a future to slumber…
Cracking and swaying his story has grown
His story is written on him to be shown
For the years shall go by and many go pass
He will be there sitting in touch with the grass
no voice has been heard no thought has been spoken
for the old man is gone a soft branch lay broken...