The soft breeze gently rustles
the golden leaves that have fallen,
scattered about
below the twisted grey branches
of the tree from which
we used to swing.

Our names, carved by the hand
of a tenderhearted young boy,
still echo love
of youth and of each other.

I take your hand in mine
and beneath the shadow of this tree,
a testament and reminder of our love,

I ask that we never allow it 
to fade into the greyness of those limbs
or to dry and fade like the leaves
that have fallen to the ground

But that we allow it to grow
ever upward and to be strong
as the great trunk of the tree itself
that bears the evidence of this great love
which beneath it's arms began.