The Trees - Paul Kelly

The trees are coming into leaf

Like something almost being said

The recent buds relax and spread

Their greenness is a kind of grief

Is it that they are born again

And we grow old?

No, they die too

Their yearly trick of looking new

Is written down in rings of grain

Yet still, the unresting castles thresh

In full-grown thickness every May

Last year is dead, they seem to say

Begin afresh, afresh, afresh

Begin afresh, afresh, afresh