Untitled (tree)
A lover once sighed into this tree.
His soul was warm; his spirit free.
And forever etched into this bark
two names live secretly in a park.

The oak shall keep their names in it's mold,
Even when their love has long been cold.
And though some moss may fill the cracks,
they will endure all but the axe.

The tree lies off the normal trail.
No one but me will hear it's tale.
As I lean back, I sigh without glee:
"One of those names once belonged to me."