You are my comfort, my warmness, my home
You are a century old, and wise as an owl
Your dark wood holds a life time of secrets
I tell you mine, you keep them close
The stories you could tell lie in your grains
You never reveal them, they are mine to share
what about yours, is it young or old.
Young for a new life, with stories to gather
or old, battered and bruised but loved dearly
Mine is solitude, relief, the best listener there is
Keep my secrets well, and per chance
If Someone is in need of a story,
You are happy for me to tell them yours.