I am ancient.
My roots grow deep and firm in the earth beneath me.
I am witness to the birth of spring and the cold,
hard death of winter… again and again and again.
I stand strong against the harsh winds, rain and snow.
I bask in the glory of protecting those below
from the heat of the sun.
Age has left my trunk barren, slowly rotting
away with the years. Now a room of many guises.
A shelter. A hideout. A place for secrets.
Secrets I guard and hold close, like a babe in the womb.
But secrets become tainted as the years pass, like the
that runs through my bark.