She has stood in the yard forever
Like an old woman
All gnarled and bent with age,
Yet rooted firmly in the earth.
Never dying,
Never moving.
Except when she beckons to me
With those frail fingers
To come and sit among her branches,
Letting her familiar arms embrace me,
Listening to the wind rustle through
Her long and flowing hair.
So two women spend the afternoon together.
One old,
One young,
Both at peace with the world.