My Tree Has a Name
When I first saw my tree in nineteen seventy
It was tall and spindly, not much strength.
But I could see the promise of a mighty oak.
In nineteen seventy-three, I claimed it for myself.
It grew and flourished.
Great strong branches stretched from its trunk.
Three boys climbed to the top, safe in its embrace.
In the years since I claimed that tree, its leaves
have come and gone.
Some branches have withered and fallen.
But this tree is mine.
Its roots are firmly planted.
The boys are now men,
But their children now vie for its attention.
My tree has a name.
Its name is Grandpa Harrold.