A Tree, A Brook, A Moment
He comes with awe and reverent air,
To see the stately cypress there;
He comes but a child with moment free,
A little of his world to see.
He comes a boy with boat in hand,
To sail this corner of his land;
His childhood awe forgotten lies
Beneath his laughs and sailor cries.
She comes down hand in hand with him,
There's just the cypress, brook, and them;
They plan to share their love and life,
Free from pain and free from strife.
He comes a man of middle years,
Fatigued by life's eternal fears.
Strength, it flows from brook to him,
And hangs as moss on cypress limb.
He comes with slow and stumbling gait,
Done with life and done with hate,
To stare at brook and cypress tree,
And plead for Time to "wait for me".