King of the hill?

Today's post is a copy of what I wrote over at Pictures, Poetry & Prose. The picture was provided by Brett Trafford and the prompt was: Start or end your writing today with this line... Under the spreading branches...
The picture:



Here is my offering...

I Stand Alone?

I stand alone atop this hill.

I’ve given millions of leaves to the earth over seventy-five years,
But none remain. They’ve all blown away.

I’ve shed tens of thousands of seeds, year after year,
But none have escaped the grazing animals.

I’ve seen thousands of sunrises,
But I never grow tired of them.

What am I? Alone and lonely?
No.

I am a host.

Under my spreading branches
Children have played.

Under my spreading branches
Picnics have been made.

Under my spreading branches
Young have been born.

Under my spreading branches
Old have lain down for the last time.

I am a host,
To man and beast.

I am a host,
To bird and bug.

I am a sight for sore eyes.
I am a reminder of pleasant days.

Beneath my boughs,
Life happens.

Over and over again.

I am a host.