Beneath the Trees

The trees are old here.
They whisper their secrets
through the wind
into the park below
as they whispered them
so long ago
to ears now lost
in the currents of time.

The river winds its way
past trees and rocks,
past the playground
where my kids now play,
their laughter mingling
with the rustles of leaves
and the cracks
of tired old limbs.

Mike Monroe 4/25/17