The Old Guard

He stood on the bank

since sapling days,

watching the river wind,

making homes for feathered guests,

who came, and went,

then came again.

He held secrets for lovers,

initials carved into his bark,

and he learned the ache

that came with love,

and couples came, and went,

and others came again.

He relished the giggles of children,

that tickled his leaves,

when his arms were strong enough

to hold the ties of laughter.

They'd swing out, splash in,

then swing out again.

He saved a life once,

when the waters rose,

crumpling stone, twisting metal.

He caught her in his arms,

wrapping branches around her,

his roots holding firm

in the ground that made him.

Her tears sank into his rings,

and though the raging waters subsided,

her grief remained, deep in his roots,

and he longed for the love and the giggles,

that had come, and been swept away,

to come again,

wishing his arms could have saved

all that the torrent stole