Alan Weiner

B.S., M.S.E., C.H.T., D.D.
Speaker, Author, Engineer, Consultant,  Inventor, Clinical Hypnotherapist

Our Tree

A Gift to Phoebe

This poem was written as a birthday present.

Our Tree

Phoebe,

There is a tree in front of our house, marking, guarding; 

protecting our sidewalk from the street traffic.

Its trunk twists and spirals up and splits and splits, 

and splits again, filling a circle out of the sky.

Year-round 

it has limbs loaded with green leaves.

Year-round 

it has a scattering of leaves of brown.

There is always an assortment of dead branches added to the mix.

When we moved here we were adults and it was a youngster.

I could surround its trunk with my two hands and touch fingers and thumbs.

Now we and the tree are stately with age and character.

Hugging it, my extended hands do not come close to touching.

There are always leaves scattered on the lawn,

Reminding me when I look down to look up.

There are always strange objects scattered around the house,

Reminding me that I am not alone.

Over thirty years welcoming me home.

Over thirty years sharing a house, a life, with me.

Happy 65th Birthday, Honey.

I love you, I love our life together.

Alan