You swore, promised even we'd bloom beyond decay—
a love no frost could strip away.

You named us evergreen, not gone,
a vow to live though time moved on.

But now you lie where roots run deep,
and I still walk—
while branches weep.

We etched our names in passing wood,
believing bark could hold the good.

You said we’d last, untouched, unseen—
like needles clinging, evergreen.

But seasons turn, I yet wished would not we
but not all that’s I expected should
stays set into the tree.