Methuselah

It has no need for words,
It has has no need for name,
It is and will forever be,
The seed from which it came.

Silently mighty in gentle sways,
Crushing ancient stones to sand,
Observing all our years and days,
Majestically they stand.

Many lovers have etched their name,
Scored their promise to its hide,
It has kept their loving secrets,
Lifetimes after they had died.

Beneath its towering bows,
So freely pure and wild,
I am reminded that for all my years,
To this tree I am a child.