The Proposal

A soft breeze gently rustles

the golden leaves that have fallen

scattered about,

below the twisted grey branches

of the tree

from which we used to swing.

Our names, carved by the hand

of this tenderhearted young boy,

still echo love,

of youth and of each other.

I now take your hand in mine,

and beneath the shadow of this tree,

a testament and reminder of our love,

I ask that we never allow it to fade

into the grayness of those limbs

or to dry and crumble like the leaves

that have fallen to the ground.

But that we allow it to grow

ever upward, and to be strong,

as the trunk of the great tree itself

that bears the evidence of this great love,

which beneath its arms began.

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