My very old friend

It stood in my backyard,
For what seems to be aeons.
If consistency was talked of,
Thick volumes can be filled on it.

Storm's futile efforts,
Couldn't pull it from the ground.
It stood like a giant mountain,
Amongst the tiny slopes.

My friends were rare to be found,
But it was one of them.
Each morning it waved at me,
When I left for school.

I conjecture,
Of it relinquishing flowers,
To let me know,
That it was gay.

Back when I was a juvenile,
I ensconced myself behind it,
When playing hide and seek with Sam,
Poor Sam! His drudgery went in vain.

It was fun,
When Sam and I owned our house on it,
We had our small tea party,
With only three guests.

Sam and I still reminisce the past,
Reposing underneath it's warmth.
We are tied together,
By a fine silky thread of love.

With time Sam might leave me,
So might his memories,
But what I know,
Will always be there for me,
Is my very old friend.