The tree on the hill

Have you seen from this fair hill, the coiling streets of Rome?
Walked the narrow lanes of rock and wondered at the dome?
Left a lover in the Paris rain,
found a penny in Trafalgar Square
or kept the girls in waiting ’til your journey took you home?

I reckon not it matters, chasing stories over shore
you who’ve paused for measured lifetimes, for twenty, maybe more!
Like light from distant stars
the rains betray their tales
and tell your grappling roots of famine, wealth and peace and war.

To be your branch, at one with land enduring through and through
I’ll carve my name into your skin and quietly join the queue.
What I’ve seen is with me
yet remains in constant motion,
let me rest a while with you and live it all once more anew.