The Secret Life of a Tree

At dawn it wakes without a sound,
No footsteps, no heartbeat, yet it breathes —
A silent saint upon the ground,
Guarding secrets no one sees.

It speaks in languages of wind,
In rustling leaves and broken light,
It keeps the stories of humankind,
Of every child, of every night.

It remembers laughter that once bloomed,
Tears that fell like winter rain,
Hands that carved initials in its wood,
Promises kept — and some in vain.

The sparrows tell it news of skies,
The earth tells tales of roots unseen,
The moon confesses lullabies,
The sun returns to paint it green.

Yet no one asks the tree its dreams,
No one wonders why it stands —
Holding worlds within its rings,
Time recorded without hands.

Still it stands — through joy and storm,
Not to be noticed, only to be.
A quiet soul in living form,
Carrying life eternally.

And if you listen close someday,
Beyond the noise of all you know —
You’ll hear a heart inside the gray,
Where all forgotten feelings grow.

For every tree has lived a life,
More ancient than the eye can see —
And every season, every leaf,
Whispers softly: “Remember me.”