It's no mistake
We call you Elder.
Over many seasons
Has your wisdom built.
Your roots curling down
And burying deep in
The womb of the earth,
Drinking up truths
From the loins of the land.

You great ouroboros.
Signpost of cycles.
Marvellous microcosm,
Bearing witness to all.
A lesson in reality;
At the end of your days,
With heaviness of heart
We bid you go well.

Yet emerging from mists,
The fruits of your being;
Rich berries of vision
To inspire, to enthral.
Your song becomes silence,
Leaping from heartwood
And spirals into space.
A ghostly galaxy of blossoms
For every summer of leaves
Cascades into the heavens
And once more becomes stars.