That Neem Tree

There, where paths crossed and stories unfolded, Stood the ancient neem, witness to the ages. Its branches, like weathered arms, reached skyward, While its roots, hidden, grasped the earth’s secrets.

There, when the first of them came along, Curiously watching, they measured, planned and built. Taking no notice of your gaze, they occupied, Steel and concrete sprouting beneath your boughs.

You, silent sentinel, watched as time danced, All was prosperous and flourished, under your watchful eye. Leaves rustled with whispers of days long gone, And bark etched with memories, bore silent testimony.

In the cool shade of your wisdom, they laughed and cried, Unaware of the eyes that have seen empires rise and fall. Should you have acknowledged their fleeting presence? Their good fortune, their sorrows, their mortal worries?

Or should you stand, stoic, as you always have, A symbol of resilience in the face of fleeting endeavors, A reminder of the enduring spirit of nature, Against the ever-changing tapestry of human toil?

In your silence, there lies a profound understanding, Of cycles of life, of the transient and the eternal. That neem tree, under your boughs, lies the truth - Of nature’s quiet endurance amidst human ambition.

- Co-authored with GPT-4