My poems

Our Tree

I'm walking down the steet.
But I can't feel my feet.
I can see the tree's.
Move with the breeze.
I can't feel it on my face.
This is like an endless chace.
To try and feel something.
But nothing is coming.

You're walking down the street.
Excited for us to meet.
You stand by our tree.
Waiting for me.
You can feel it on your face.
This happiness you chace.
But something is missing.
When you see me coming.