The Tree

You now call me an old man

An over the hill seventy-one-year old

But you have no idea at all

What you are looking at

 

You see the rough bark

Of the old tree

Not the rings of age

Of experience, laughter and pain

 

You see the brownish decaying leafs

Fluttering hesitantly towards the ground

Not the vibrant green they once were

Soaking up the sunlight

 

You see the old gnarled branches

The damage from fierce storms

Not thinking about the sap

Still flowing strong

 

Look inside the tree

Continuously renewed

Brimming with life

Young forever

 

And you see me