Every Decade, We Planted a Tree

Every decade, we planted a tree— 

At ten, my hands were small, yours steady, 

A sapling that swayed, fragile as I was. 

You said, "One day, it will shelter you," 

And I believed you, as children always do.

Every decade, we planted a tree— 

At twenty, I found you waiting, hands wrinkled, 

We dug deep, our laughter sinking into the earth, 

As roots stretched far, I learned to stand tall. 

You said, "This will outlive us both,"

And I wondered

How time could bend the will 

Of branches and bones alike.

Every decade, we planted a tree— 

At thirty, I returned to the woods alone, 

The spade cut deep, but not as deep as the silence.

 I knelt on your gravestone, under the trees we had grown, 

The wind whispered through their leaves, 

And for the first time, I noticed you in the rustling leaves.