Time can be measured, it can be erased

It is often a thief, a mistress who waits

A whispering shadow so often chased

Those who forego or those who embrace

The new aches, the new pains

The wrinkled lines etched on their face

There are those who rely on the passing of time

Each year a ring, each hour of shade

So often their reward is how tall they can climb

They are the trees, sturdy and stout

Made of rough bark, made of green blades

United in root, survivors of famine and drought

Time was once told through those sturdy trees

Seasons they were named, four they became

Spring blooms, summer heat, autumn sheds, winter freeze

Entire forests stood tall, united and taut

Pines, yews, maples, and oaks

Each full of secret, each branch a knot

Time with the trees is now marked another way

Who survives the axe, who perish to ash

Kings, gods, now trees, once reigned, now lay

If you spoke to the trees,

If you shouted their name,

They would not answer,

They would not play,

Their leaves would shake out one final claim

Because 

Time can be measured, it can be erased

It is often a thief, a mistress who waits

A whispering shadow so often chased