By Gerald Marshall
I went under that red oak tree,
If I could find the old you
and you were there
Only to be found new.
I stood there silently and cried,
Mourning for the old you,
Knowing who I was in love with
As tears flowed from my eyes,
I heard you gently whisper in my ear
“No matter my form I’m still here.”
Still I couldn’t see,
Because I was frightened by the new you
Who stood there next to me.