Tree Of Life
Like the branches on a tree
We reach out and we grow
Spreading in the warmth
Putting roots down as we go

The tree of life is everything
It gives and also takes
Just like the changing seasons
It sleeps and then it wakes

For the family tree is central
Just like the gnarled oak trees
The roots and leaves remain
To share our memories

For leaves will bud and fall
And that is nature's way
Just as people live and die
But they never go away

For they are all around us
Like the ever-changing tree
From winter through to summer
Forever – eternally
Carolyn McAllan Poetry
July 7, 2017
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FROM A FRIENDLY VILLAGER
Your tombstone stands among the rest; neglected and alone. The name and the date are chiseled out on polished, marbled stone. It reaches out to all who cares it is too late to mourn. You did not know that I exist You died and I was born. Yet each of us are cells of you in flesh, in blood, in bone. Our blood contracts and beats a pulse entirely not our own. Dear Ancestor, the place you filled one hundred years ago spreads out among the ones you left who would have loved you so. I wonder if you lived and loved, I wonder if you knew That someday I would find this spot, and come to visit you. Author Unknown

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Tree Of Life
Like the branches on a tree
We reach out and we grow
Spreading in the warmth
Putting roots down as we go

The tree of life is everything
It gives and also takes
Just like the changing seasons
It sleeps and then it wakes

For the family tree is central
Just like the gnarled oak trees
The roots and leaves remain
To share our memories

For leaves will bud and fall
And that is nature's way
Just as people live and die
But they never go away

For they are all around us
Like the ever-changing tree
From winter through to summer
Forever – eternally
Carolyn McAllan Poetry
July 7, 2017
**************************************************
FROM A FRIENDLY VILLAGER
Your tombstone stands among the rest; neglected and alone. The name and the date are chiseled out on polished, marbled stone. It reaches out to all who cares it is too late to mourn. You did not know that I exist You died and I was born. Yet each of us are cells of you in flesh, in blood, in bone. Our blood contracts and beats a pulse entirely not our own. Dear Ancestor, the place you filled one hundred years ago spreads out among the ones you left who would have loved you so. I wonder if you lived and loved, I wonder if you knew That someday I would find this spot, and come to visit you. Author Unknown

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