Well worn paths
Keep distant footprints
In sacred temples
Of the soul
Locked within
A poets heart
Etched in ink
Yellowed paper old.
The shading tree
Of many years
Cradles joy
And yet some tears
Aging roots
That reach below
Happiness and sorrow
In equal row.
Its memory sighs
As if to sleep
When night it falls
And quiet seeks
A tender dream
That lifetime spans
A million memories
In its hands.