MS

The tree on the corner of the street,
doesn't miss the first light of the day,
she feels the breeze in her leafs,
singing she prays in my way.
Sturdy and old she remains in the spot,
giving without asking in return,
at night it consumes my thoughts,
will I get old and sturdy on my own?
For 100 more years she will see my sons,
an their sons to be,
by then my muscles will have succumbed,
to the disease that will transform me into that tree.