We stand as one, our branches entwined

High above the ground.

Budding flowers of pride, grown from seeds of hope,

Which came from another tree.

One by one, a soldier falls, its bark gray and rough from age,

But it never hits the ground, as two by two more soldiers spring up to catch him.

Our roots run deep, low down until they cannot go further.

Along the way our roots tie together, creating a web of memories and hardships.

The fruit of life that sprouts from our small buds of hope,

Round and sweet, new to the wonders of the world,

Will fall before I, but give life to a new soldier.

Though the winters are rough, and summers dry,

We stand as one, our branches entwined,

High above the ground of despair.