The trees have stories, if you'll only listen

 The path is clear as long as I know
it doesn't matter which way I go
the left the right, go up go down
It matters not if you're not in town.

The tree will shelter you from the storm
of regrets and frowns that left you shorn
of happiness, joy, laughter, delight,
it's best that you slither back into the night.

Ivy is still, but waits for no tree

Until it sees this face, and stops waiting for grace.

The arms all reach out and say "halt if you dare!

"Do you know what we'll do?
Turn you into a chair!"

But the boughs know the way
they are eager to share

 

the trees are too warm
and cut their bark bare.

The older tree sighs
but keeps its stance on the moor.

The tree in spring,
how I wish I could see it in fall.