Relative Trees

My son is strong, a young oak tree

His leaves move gently in the breeze

His shadow calms, puts me at ease

He is the tree I wish to be

My tree is rugged, rough, and torn

Life’s left it’s mark, my bark is worn

Leaves have fallen; my shade, forlorn

I’m not the tree that I was born

My son’s long branches reach the sky

Grows and flowers as birds come by

Watch in wonder and start to cry

As he bears fruit for passersby

My roots will keep his soil intact

And block the wind upon his back

And when the Man comes with His axe

I’ll be the one that He will hack

My son’s tree will live long and free

And he will bloom majestically

My stump will keep him company

Under his shade is where I’ll be