I must go back to my tree again,
To that lovely tree where I cried.
And all I ask is a whispering breeze
And a serene cerulean sky.
And the rustle of leaves, and the creak of the boughs,
And the grit that clings to the bark;
And the grooves of ancient forget- me- nots
The tinder for memory's spark.
To rest once again in utter peace
In those gnarled and knotted limbs,
To drift in blissful transcendence
And to make my peace with him.
by Tina K
