Where the beaten, acorn littered br Path divides itself into two br beside a thorny skin ripping br leafless bush. br A small weed concealed trickle br of a track leads us to the last br reminder of yesteryears love. br Over caved in mole hills br under limbo luring branches br is a sqandron of stern looking br soldier straight trees. br A little behind their line br Is our tree. br Engraved with the words of br sweet young love. br The moss had grown inpatient br and had snuggled itself into br the lettered grooves. br Everything was how we had left it: br Broken branches still hanging br in the silent misty air, br bruised or half eaten berries br still blood red. br Endless tennis nets of spider webs br that sparkled with tiny droplets of dew. br Everything had remained the same br nature had no need to change. br if only we had stayed here too.