The Tree

The birds that perch on the tree
Are oblivious to the memories that flow through its branches
Ignorant of the tales that it has to tell,
Blind to the wizened and cracked offshoots.

The tree is an old man with many memories and stories to share.
It shakes out its leaves, with the aid of the wind
And slowly, gently smiles down on all below.

When the tree becomes old,
With no leaves to speak of
It is painted blue and left
For all the wildlife to admire.