BARREN

Upon a hill stands a tree
My husband planted there,
Representing the child
That I could not bear.

From a tiny seedling
The tree grew strong and tall,
Braving all the seasons
Summer, winter, spring, and fall.

To the hill he'd go each day
To gaze upon that tree,
From one branch he hung a swing
For his child that would not be.

In it's shade he'd sit and dream
For many hours every day,
He'd envision the children we couldn't have
As they might romp and play.

I watched him grow old with the tree
And saw the emptiness in his soul,
It was I who made him that way
His happiness I had stole.

Twas a cool summers eve neath the tree he sat
His thoughts with the children at play,
God saw fit to take my man
To his playground far away.

There neath that tree stands a stone
The epitaph of a childless man,
"This tree is my child, my love and my life,
Eternally it shall stand."