Under the spreading aged tree
We planned our troth, both you and me,
Around us many birds had sung,
The tree was old but we were young,
We carved our names within the bark,
Sometimes we heard the sound of a lark,
Now that many years have passed away,
And though your hair has turned to gray
We try to locate that wonderful tree
Where we carved our names both you and me
Again, we hear the sound of a lark,
but cannot find our names in the bark,
And I wonder if fate has reserved for others
A magical space for newer lovers?