a tree in the park

There is a tree in the park
It’s the home of a small bird’s nest
I don’t know if it’s a raven or a lark
All I see are the striking colors on its chest.

But its not the bird that impresses my eye;
It’s the tree; this large oak tree with branches long,
Who daily has intimacy with the dirt and sky,
Showing them its secrets, its stories, and its song

Yes there is music in the trees
Each one has its own voice and tone
Its motifs are the romance in the breeze
And raging anger in the gale’s groan.

But this tree has a different song than most
It was meant to be in a forest of his own
But he was planted alone, like a wilderness post
Tortured when other leaves to his base are blown.

His song is sad, lonely and longing for companionship
He has shaded lovers kissing for the first time,
Swung a child who didn’t want to feel his father’s grip,
And held a man who took his life…history’s greatest crime.

When night would fall he could see the lights of the city,
And could see the trees of the forest finding comfort together,
But it was silent here…not even wind to carry his song of pity.
Why had he been planted there?

One day men came and measured him with sticks
They were harsh and made him afraid.
For centuries he had stood tall but now would fall.
His many markings of every generation would be sliced by a blade.

The dawn of his morning was quiet, the air thin.
Then a young girl startled him with the most beautiful sound.
She was singing, and he knew that she sang for him
She was looking at him, their eyes met and that was enough.

He thought that it was strange that for the first time he felt loved,
She came and touched his face for the last time and took out a knife
She carved something into his body, something amongst the many,
Yet it was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his long life

There is a tree in the park,
The breeze blows through his branches one last time.
One final note in his music, heard only by his lark.
But his music, his love, and his story will forever by mine.