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