The trees look sad today, 

lonely on the hill. 

The wind played yesterday,

but now the air is still. 

And the leaves have gone away. 

 

Will you let your faces fall

where the leaves have died and fade?

Your figures still stand tall

though you cannot offer shade. 

You shall yet bless us all. 

 

For there will come a night

when gnarled, aching bones

will reach to cradle moonlight—

grace in silver tones

that fills us at the sight. 

 

So, trees, be brave and stay, 

standing on the hill. 

Yield not to yesterday

while tomorrow breathes still— 

share what’s yours today. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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