Living Tree Poetry

Grow old with me,
the best is yet be.
The best, to come.

We thought the best
arrived when first
we met,

young things
on the cusp,
the brink of falling in.

We thought it better
yet,
when two became entwined,

joining at the roots
to branch out and
make a house.

Under which
seeds were shed,
and seedlings grew.

We thought the best
was here
in the shade, the sun.

But grow old with me,
the best is yet to be.
The best of these years behind

have made a bed,
that when we start to lose
our leaves, our strength,

we will see
how the smiling
does not stop,

memories enriching
everything arriving yet,
everything stored up.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
July 2020