Your journey splits into branches
Upon a dirt path of nurtured soil
Where your roots once grew.
Some live and others have passed,
Whether completely buried among a thriving colony
Or still visible, but pitiful.
Your trunk is large and round
But all the details are what make you unique;
The bike it grew through,
The swing bolted to your childhood,
The pests of society crawling all over you.

Your leaves are brown.
All you can remember is her name and yours.
And as time goes on,
I wonder which leaf will fall first.