The Magic Tree

The Magic Tree

Do you ever go back to our magic tree,

Where the bark still holds what we used to be?

Names carved deep with unshaken hands,

Though we knew too well life had other plans.

The roots curled tight beneath our feet,

A silent witness to time’s defeat.

Leaves once whispered of dreams we swore,

But the wind took them, ours no more.

Did you trace the scars where my fingers pressed,

Or did ivy swallow what we confessed?

Seasons peeled at the marks we made,

Yet still, they linger, though faint, though frayed.

I stood there once when the dusk ran red,

Words on my tongue left unsaid.

I almost called, but ghosts don’t hear,

And shadows answer with silence here.

The tree still stands, but the spell is done,

No ember left, no setting sun.

Yet sometimes I wonder, in fading light,

If you ever go back, just for one night.

Or does it stand in the hush alone,

A shrine to love the past has known?

Roots still gripping, branches wide.

Holding the echoes time can’t hide.