Classic Poem

I stood beside an ancient tree,
And stroked its bark with tender hand;
Good friends were we; it counseled me,
Its waving leaves my forehead fanned.
I long had watched the years that rolled,
But there, beneath an ageless sky,
And under branches centuries old
I cried, Dear God, how young am I!

I stood beside an ancient tree,
And stroked its bark with tender hand;
Good friends were we; it counseled me,
Its waving leaves my forehead fanned.
I long had watched the years that rolled,
But there, beneath an ageless sky,
And under branches centuries old
I cried, Dear God, how young am I!