By Gerald Marshall


I went under that red oak tree,
to see
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
had died.

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.


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