My leaves are now shades of browns and yellows,
And crunch under the footsteps of passing fellows.
With leaves – once green – now lying cold,
And stooping branches, I am undeniably old.
But with moments of bliss, my memory is still green,
And I remember how my life has been.
I was a seed planted by a little hand,
In an unknown and unseen land.
The hand nurtured me with the elixir of water,
And roots and shoots began to totter.
A plant now slowly becoming a tree,
The little hand seemed to grow with me.
I grew and many fruits I bore,
Filling each branch until there was space for no more.
And I used to drop a fruit with a thunk,
Whenever I felt the hand on my trunk.
In these last days, alone as I sit,
The hand still comes to visit.
Each moment with that hand seems worthwhile,
As it’s touch stretches my wrinkles into an invisible smile.
And I hope and wish that there are more like this hand,
To nurture more like me and fill this land!