Like the geriatric tree's trunk do

If you'd Chop & slice me through

similar "annual rings" you'd view
Each year, furrows a new wrinkle
& deeper burrows the old crinkle
With each ring, I shall wither & wane,
Yes soon shall be gnarly & drain
Ticking away the hour glass
sand will run out, someday will pass
But then deeper are my roots
branched & matured have my fruits
Wind whistles a love song through my leaves,
Oh No, I am not yet Done
Sway lustily with you "Oh Tempest,"
You are surely "the One"
Till eventually I finally calm & fade
I promise you all my comfort & shade.