When I was young and hair bloomed full <br />upon my thoughtless little head <br />it seems I spent more time in trees <br />than ever spent within my bed <br /> <br />Leaping carelessly from branch <br />and hanging upside down by knees <br />marvelling at all I'd see <br />the flowers and the honeybees <br /> <br />And even as I grew to be a man <br />I loved to climb, to run and play <br />thinking in my youthful heart <br />that I would always be that way <br /> <br />But now as gray begins to root <br />within my thinning head of hair <br />it seems that life is too filled up <br />to run and climb without a care <br /> <br />I wish I had a tree to climb <br />like the trees of happy youth <br />where I could linger with the bees <br />in search of simpler bits of truth <br /> <br />But all my trees are tender shoots <br />and long before they grow so tall <br />I think that age will touch my heart <br />to keep me from their earthy call <br /> <br />And I will look to branch and bough <br />with eyes so full of wistful tears <br />remembering the feel of bark <br />from my happy childhood years <br /> <br />10/8<br /><br />John W Flournoy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-trees-and-aging/
