Who will tell you that you were too young?
Singing such songs and having such fun.
Finding holes in brittle walls.
Who will come see you if you never call?
Under the tree that some call your home.
Many years have now come and gone.
An epitaph with leaves by your side.
Under the tree is where you now lye.
Who will change the seasonal ground?
Who will find whats never been found?
Across the sky all colored with dawn.
Who will say whats right or whats wrong?
Under the tree your body has been placed.
A wisp of air across a lonely face.
Having found that person you should be.
Now your place is under the tree.

Gulliver Gimble

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/under-the-tree/