The Old Tree
Artwork by Arina Stetsiuk, age 13
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It’s winter and the old tree,
whose leaves once flew away,
Weak and naive,
conveys the sadness that is prey
There is a man alongside the old tree,
resting in peace, that's me,
I've been there for so much time,
even the cold, the wind, feels sublime
My legs are turning into roots,
and my body cannot move.
My limbs are now boughs
Where the tree sap goes
The motionless trunk
of yours, sweet calm.
Thank you my dear tree
You save me from the evil within
It starts to rain,
and I remember why I came
I came here to forget
I came here to rest
We both know spring will come sometime
but, today everything left is oblivion, and pain
Days and days pass by,
Then spring takes place,
the tree and I say bye
and hope for the best.
“Where can I see you again?”
I said
Just in winter
my friend.
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Alonso Blánquez is a 16-year-old writer from Madrid, Spain. Alonso is interested in literature, particularly poetry, narrative, and essays. He also plays basketball; enjoys participating in any competition, physical or mental; and loves reading philosophy by Plato, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, and Camus.