Companion
Another November I stand with the trees
Their black branches robbed by a mean autumn breeze
I lean on a tall oak, my cheek to her bark
And mourn my companion as the woodland grows dark
Oh, I miss my companion, always more, never less
As the years wrap around me, they embrace my distress
I return to you empty. Speak again what you teach
From the ages inside you, round and as wide as my reach
Then the oak speaks for hours and her wisdom I heed
I hear in her silence all the solace I need
"Stay standing," she minds me, "Let death do its worst
"Welcome each sunrise as if it's your first"
Yes, another November I stand with the trees
Their black branches robbed by a mean autumn breeze
I must leave you again now with tears on your bark
But I'll come back each autumn till my memory goes dark
© Copyright 2025 Peter Lloyd