Some gnarled old tree
That stands at the side of an ancient road
Seems to speak my life with its branches,
Holding me and my dreams in its twisted, strong arms
Each withered knot
A fantasy unrealized
Its peeling bark,
My hopes unraveling.

Its largest branch
Undressed by leaves, and barren,
Points down the ancient road,
And urges me to travel
Past this tree that knows my history.

And as the road unfolds
And leaves the dusty memories behind
I see green meadows spreading
Out beyond the ending of the road
A pasture of new possibilities,
A grove of young and as yet unmarked trees
Where I may wander
And again create my hopes and dreams anew
So they may bloom beyond the gnarled tree
That held my old dreams by the ancient road.