THE TREE
The old man sits in the shade of the tree
That he planted with his father
When he was only three.
Though but a small boy,
The tree gave him so much joy.
With his father, he watered it
And tended it
And watched it grow tall and strong.
Then came the time
When his father passed on.
Then the man had a child of his own.
The tree had grown,
Boughs thick and strong.
First, they held a cradle,
To soothe his baby's cry;
Then a swing for his son to fly
High with his dreams
Over the streams
And into the sky.
Now, the little child who climbs
Among the leaves and hides,
Is his grandchild,
Picking fruit to eat.
And the old man smiles contentedly,
As he sits in the shade of the tree.
One day, I'll lie beneath this tree.
No headstone required for me.
This tree, so strong and tall
Will tell my tale to one and all
When under the rich, green leaves
They sit in the shade of the tree.
READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD