Few things in the world are more special than memories,
Having lived a hundred years now, I have so very many.
I remember the swing I held; hearing the children's "whee",
And I remember when little Glenda was stung by an ornery bee.
I have a tattoo of sorts - carved upon my body by two,
The shape of a heart; with the inscription "Greg loves Sue".
They sat beneath me probably some forty years ago,
And recently returned hand in hand, their faces still aglow.
But I do not stand here in this spot alone,
As a family of squirrels has also made me their home.
And in my outstretched arm I hold baby birds in their nest,
They rely on me for shelter from any uninvited guest.
When the wind blows through me, it's a perfect moment to seize,
It is hard for me to explain the joy I get from a tiny breeze.
But as the loud engines of the yellow machines start up this day,
The roots I have sprung will undoubtedly be torn away.
I stand here strong, knowing that my end is undoubtedly near,
But I will not forget those memories I hold so dear.
I will never understand why I am not valued by society,
So gone I will be, but not the precious memories - of this tree.
Copyright 2007 by Kenneth Pierce