When does the tree understand its place?
How can it perceive changing clock’s face?
When, from sapling born, its leaves begin to wilt
Does it know its fate, is its aging felt?
A similar sight is something we all face
So eager to win, we forget to enjoy the race
The axis of adulthood pivots with uncomfortable tilt
The threshold so clear, yet often so hard to tell
It boils down to a moment, a single event
When somebody realizes what their childhood meant
For me, it was a breath of reflection
A realization that change is no mere distraction
The embracing of different, the accepting of new
Helped me to accept what’s known by so few
Change is inevitable, yes, this is true
But change is a balm to those stuck with a view
I knew I had grown when I knew my own mind
When I had an understanding of the language inside
I thought I’d need to be in on the divine fuss
But nobody, really, has discovered their purpose
So that tree in the grove, its trunk peeling and old
I hope it knows what a story it’s told
For the passage of time and the steps we all take
Are determined by us, and the choices we make