If I were walking in the woods
and came upon my family tree.
I might fall asleep on it's trunk,
to drift away in history.
Through the roots my soul would fly,
just like an eagle soaring free.
Seeing my ancestors faces
Down the countless centuries.
I'd wake to the smell of lilacs
and of a honey-suckle blend.
Bringing my distant reverie
to an abrubt, but pleasant end.
Then I'd hug the ancient tree trunk
like one would hug a long lost friend.
Breaking loose I'd spy some branches.
Hand over hand, I'd start to ascend.
Climbing up to the highes limbs
I'd find a place to rest and see
all the limbs were sick and twisted,
brown leaves where green should be.
Searching for a healthy blossom.
Clutching it tight with childish glee,
I'd lower myself to the ground
and go plant my own family tree.