Every tree I see I want to climb
If only I could find sufficient time
And strength and grace and suppleness of limb

But aching back and creaking knees
Just might look funny up in trees
And folks might think my wits are growing dim.

But should I worry about opinions
Of the throng of milling minions
Honestly, please tell me should I care?

Each branch that I can get a hand on
I'll grab and climb up with abandon
Let the people stop and laugh and stare!

But dammit, there might be a reason
That only youth in its prime season
Climbs impulsively each tree up to the top

Sore back and weakening of shoulder
Tell me that I'm getting older
It finally may be time for me to stop

Though sitting on a porch and rocking
Displays of strength reserved for talking
Really aren't how I see myself.

I'm aging, that I must admit
Been doing so for quite a bit
It's not time to be put up on a shelf

So if I see a hanging bough
I'll see if I can figure how
To use it to climb (just more carefully)

And you may see me in the park
From morning until early dark
Celebrating life up in a tree!

Poem and image (c) 2020, Kevin Cheek


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