The Soul, the Tree

A single soul tread on a path,
Listening to the wind,
Whispering to the trees.
Always whispering...
These are his friends.

An observation made
Of those who follow on,
And those who go ahead.
Often merry couples,
Watch them dance.

Hands locked in love,
Words spoken in riddles,
Eyes bright and at rest.
I love them with all my heart,
But I am a mere passerby.

So I smile,
And I cry.

I feel as though I may be the last of my kind.

A single tree stood on a path,
Listening to the wind,
Whispering to itself.
Always whispering...
These are its friends.