The four old green towering cypress trees                       
That live and breathe, and sway and thrive right there
They have a few bees and withstand each breeze
And have no fruit, no life, nor hope to wear

When passersby see arid vines all glum,
They tend to think much less than nothing
But when I pass at righteous time so numb,
My heart starts feeling something.

I can’t imagine what it would be like
Without this reminder of your presence,
I roam around on a day-long hike
Reminiscing on our adolescence.

I admire these trees that remain in view,
But just hate their look; their reflection of you.