Remember when we were saplings young

and supple as whips in the wind?

We could not break though bent to the soil

and sprang upright with a song.

Remember when we were tall young trees

full of blossoms, and  heavy with seeds?

When a strong wind blew we waved and were glad,

flung down acorns, and seeds to the stars.

But now we are ancient, maple and oak,

years have passed, we here side by side.

And you say winter is coming again,

and I say must we face many more springs,

for the winds are colder and ache our limbs,

our bark is crumbling, infested and drilled,

the worm takes your acorns, my seeds are few.

Will it be mouldering or lightning or axe?