You grew in what became a picnic grove
Providing shade to what is now a park
While dying you were cut and when I drove
One morning past your place expecting dark
I found the stump, your tombstone, your new mark
And knew eventually that so will I
Look up with new perspective on the sky.
I hope my soul will be as clean as yours,
My inner self as clear, and fresh and bright,
Each year of mine there, and accounted for,
Reflected on before the coming night:
That I may say, as you have earned the right,
“I sheltered others when they needed shade,
I will be missed by those who pass this way”.