After rain has come and gone
I sit a while beneath the tree,
the one my Father sat upon
Where once he may have thought of me.
Slowly, Sunbeams dry the bark
She weeps her raindrops, free to fall.
I stay there sometimes when its dark
To listen to wild natures call.
But always when I rise to go
once all the reminiscing’s done,
I’m clearer in the things I know
Of what is past and what may come.
Though under Skies as grey as Slate
dull days may shade my memory,
No darkened cloud could span so great
To dim my eyes of that one tree.