A tree does not wear its age on its leaves
It reveals the age of its meditative stance
Only after it is felled, through rings that tell a tale
Of times good and bad, it bears silent witness
To the state of air and water, they are ageless
Destined to outlast time, their work never ceases
Running through the veins of a tree or a human, keeping them alive
We touch the ageless through them, the benevolent sun
Maintains a respectable distance, leaving the air moist
We drink the ageless tears of joy shed by the mountains
And breathe eternal air that is freshened by its brood of trees
Why think of age when we live off gifts from the ageless?
