Aug 2015
I’d ‘ever be your tree,
Come the pull of your arm.
I’d ‘ever be your tree,
Come the push, two gentle feet.
I’d ‘ever be your tree,
Come the wind, come the rain.
And’d ‘ever be your tree,
Come beginning, come the end.
Son, I promise, I’d ‘ever be your tree.
So roots spoke, “the leaves never die.”
Come the pull of your arm.
I’d ‘ever be your tree,
Come the push, two gentle feet.
I’d ‘ever be your tree,
Come the wind, come the rain.
And’d ‘ever be your tree,
Come beginning, come the end.
Son, I promise, I’d ‘ever be your tree.
So roots spoke, “the leaves never die.”
For my son, seven months old and two days after finding out another's on the way.
