The Silent Witness

A tree stands tall, in quiet grace,

Its roots run deep, its trunk a sturdy base.

Its branches reach up to the sky,

A silent witness as the years go by.

This tree has stood for many years,

Through storms and droughts and countless tears.

It's been a home to birds and bees,

And given shade to those who seek a breeze.

In spring, it dons a dress of green,

And buds burst forth, a sight unseen.

Its branches sway in gentle breeze,

As new life forms, with grace and ease.

In summer, it offers cooling shade,

And rustling leaves in breezes played.

The sun shines bright, the sky so blue,

This is the season when dreams come true.

In fall, it sheds its leaves of gold,

A tapestry of colors, a sight to behold.

The air grows crisp, the days grow short,

As autumn paints the world in rich, warm sort.

And in winter, when the snow descends,

It stands alone, a steadfast friend.

Its branches bare, its roots held tight,

It waits for spring, with all its might.

O tree, how many tales you hold,

Of birds and beasts, of young and old.

You've seen the world in all its forms,

And weathered countless raging storms.

You stand unmoved, in sun or rain,

A symbol of life, without complaint.

Your roots dig deep, your branches wide,

You show the way, where life can abide.

And though we pass you every day,

We rarely stop to hear you say,

In whispers soft, or creaks and groans,

The secrets that you hold alone.

But if we stop and take a while,

We'll hear your voice, and see your smile.

We'll feel the life that pulses through,

And know that all of life is true.

So here's to you, dear tree of mine,

A steadfast sentinel, a thing divine.

May you stand strong for ages yet,

And grace the earth with your silhouette.