The Chosen

I have been chosen, my mission is clear

The time is coming, it's drawing near,

The sky of blue, is calling my name

On this lovely tree, I can't remain.

 

There is a chill, that makes me shiver

When winds are blowing, I'm all a dither.

A spiritual puff will lift me free

As I bid farewell, my dear to thee.

 

I have stood watch, on you below

As you come home, and as you go.

Since I was a bud, it has been my mission

I'm the spirit of your ancestor, it is tradition.

 

 Spring and summer have turned into fall

The weather is nice but I hear the call

My spirit was here for just a short spell

But I have endured, and spent it well.

 

My golden colors, lets me know that I've aged

While I watched you my friend, on Earth special stage.

Now Winter is nigh, Soon all will be frozen.

I bid thee good by.. For I am the chosen.

 

©Yvonne Bowman~10/19/2006