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The Old Tree
The leaves crunch with each step I take,
trying to find my way to the old tree we carved our initials in ten years ago,
I can remember the laughs of that playful fall morning,
the love in the air, I can hear it.
We had sat enjoying the view of those four letters,
next to my hot tea sitting atop of an old, crooked picnic table
and the bouquet of sunflowers he picked for me,
the closer I get, I can smell it.
We were picnicking under that old tree that Saturday,
taking in each new moment as if it were the last,
with the aroma of a freshly bake apple pie taunting us,
and in the dew that engulfs me as I walk, I can taste it.
I saw him just this morning, we woke to the kisses of our child,
but these few moments of separation feel like an eternity. He feverishly runs to greet me.
That picnics under the tree long ago was only the beginning of a lifetime,
in his excitement, I can see it.
He embraces me and I lift away from the earth, thankful for the years he has spent by my side.
We add our daughters initials to the tree, six total now.
He smiles while we kiss.
His love for me, I can feel it.
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