I miss that old tree
Made out of dark, hard wood
Forever standing
With twisted grooves
That let you glimpse at its tales
I remember the strong branches
Which held me up to see the world
And caught me
Before I stumbled into an awful fate
I liked to rub my fingers
Over the scratched, unprotected wood
That people engraved with their names
Just wanting to be remembered
I long to watch the stories of the leaves again
They weren't afraid of their future
But embraced it
And my ears still echo
With the voices of robins
Whose mystifying melodies
Slipped me into daydreams
Daydreams of adventures
Of memories of the old oak
I was eager to have it whisper its wisdom
To have my eyes open to the world
Oh, how I miss that old tree
Oh, how I miss that old part of me.