I miss the trees that lined the road,
Their massive trunks and leafy boughs
Changing colors as the seasons passed.
They formed a living wall of green or red
That greeted me when I entered town,
Familiar and comforting as I’d drive by,
A quiet tug of reassurance
Telling me I was almost home.

Year after year, those boughs were there,
As I assumed they would always be,
Until one day the trees were gone,
The roadside bare where they had been.
And I can see at last the stones beyond,
Lined on grass in neatly patterned rows.
Less warm than trees, the stones now speak
To tell me I am almost home.