Old Men Of Trees

The old men of trees,
they waver with grace
in the gust of the breeze.

Carved out of wisdom,
through the march of time.
They've seen ancient birds
soar through the old skies.

They've seen battles of death;
You can still hear the wars
in their whispering breath.

They've seen sunrises of hope,
and the sunsets of ruin,
men and women stand bold,
and children of famine,
with naked branches
in Winter's grey cold.

They've seen triumph up on the hills,
and watched beauty expire.
They've heard the sweet sound
of ancient trills in old Shires.

They have seen darkness
ravage the land,
but, the old men of trees,
still, they still stand

They have felt the fierce tread
of horses and men
in fields full of dread.

They have seen life and death,
again and again,
Those old men of trees,
that waver with grace
in the gust of the breeze.