Saturday, August 20, 2011

The Giving Tree

When we were just young and carefree,
There was no ending we could foresee;
We’d eat apples, and swing,
And see what we could wring
As gifts from the giving tree.

We chopped it up, went on a spree—
And a lot ended up as debris;
With replacements withdrawn,
What we needed was gone:
The stuff of the giving tree.

At the end of our tale we might see
A meaning for you and for me,
And wind up admitting
We’re old, and we’re sitting
On the stump of the giving tree.

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