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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 10, Issue 12 (March 2, 1936)

Getting Old

Getting Old.

Dear tree, you've grown old with me through the years…
Was I ten when I set you there?
I wore a pinafore trimmed with lace
And a crimson bow in my hair.
How anxiously watered and watched you were;
Remember the wild delight
When I ran to fetch father and mother and all
The day a new leaf came in sight?
And now I just walk from the house to your shade.
“She's off to her tree,” they say.
“She talks to it, sometimes, the poor old dear—
But at eighty they get that way.”

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