Sitting in the shade of an old birch tree
singing of all the dreams i had to let go
and the tears fall to the earth so gently
they drip beneath the surface of the soil

The sussurrus of the wind in the leaves
it tickles my ear drums like goose down
fallen from the mother's breast
and placed in the nest by the gander

My feet are bare and unprotected
They press into the earth below them
Trying to grow like roots deep below
They long to rejoin the heart of it all

This sunday morning so pale and fragile
Is never really here but passing by
Like the summer rainclouds that wander
more ephemeral than a fleeting moment

Somewhere I can hear laughter soft and pure
Like an angel delighted by the weather
It grows until its apogee strikes at noon
and it fades back somewhere behind the sun

This feeling of insouciance swells in my heart
Yet though nascent it too begins to dwindle
Moribund like some old widowed woman
Hands shaking and eyes beginning to close

The birch's flesh is blackened with age
Forgetting what it was like to be soft and white
When it was a sapling in the days of spring
Its green leaves grew golden then brown

If only this sunday morning would last forever
The wind gentle and constant through my hair
The laughter never pausing for a single breath
If only this old birch would never loose its leaves