Poem: When I am old as old can be

 

When I am old as old can be

And every year has passed me by,

I hope to sit beneath my tree,

This oak I grew; how times does fly!

            Once, it was young and I was young…

            But it will thrive long after me:

            When I am turned to earth beneath

            The roots it wove, and all you’ll see

Will be fresh blooms, the brighter grown

For growing there, where once I lay;

And high above my tree will stretch

Its branches to another day ―

            But long before I take my rest

            I hope to sit where shade falls deep.

            I’ll knit, read, sing, till memory

            Has ushered me to gentle sleep.