The Trees

The roots of who we become is passed down from who we surround ourself with.

I see a clear road as I pedal my bike, defined by two continuing

Patterns of trees on either side. 

They go for ages, showing years of life.

As the seasons turn,

So do they.

The trees follow me, leading me into

My distinct life that no one else decides.

They grow taller, giving me shelter during the night,

And shade during the day.

They bare fruit, too much for one person,

I learn to share from the trees,

A hole in my heart filled 

From the smiles of others.

They send me off when I'm too old,

watching me ride past them,

faster and faster, moving the plastic

pedals, pounding, and panting.

Trusting that I can ride on my own.

When my job flees, the trees stand.

When my money runs, the trees stand.

When my love dies, the trees stand.

When I fall down, the trees stand

Up.

Each passing month conquers the foul haze of nature,

Before my ending days draw near. 

Each time I take that old red Firebird out,

accelerating along the road, I see two continuing

patterns of trees on either side.

As the seasons turn,

So do they,

Watching me glide past them.