Leaves quiver,
branches shake,
and many young trees the wind doth take.
One tree,
newly sown and just beginning to grow,
is battered, bent, and tossed to and fro.
As the sun returns its shine
and the forest returns to life,
the young tree lays low from a thunderstruck blow.
It looks up toward the sky
at a tree of great height
and ponders such strength to survive such a night.
“Pray what is thy secret, oh tree in the wood?
How have you stood, when nothing else could?
How is it that I, being sturdy and young,
should fall before thou, for my life’s just begun!”
The tall tee casts its leaves
in a showering sneeze,
and answered the young tree with words such as these:
“Tis no secret I hide,
the answer I give free:
have patience and find
that my strength lives in thee.”
“But I have no such strength,”
the youth answers with angst.
“Do you not see my bent trunk
nor observe how I’ve sunk?”
You are blind, old tree!”
the youth answers angrily.
“Are you not wood and covered in bark?
And bear you not leaf, twined as if art?”
“These I have,” the youth replies.
“Yet I’ve fallen down low, and injured my pride.”
The aged tree creaks and shakes:
a memory sparked of his growth and uptake.
“Your roots,” he replied with a voice full of know.
“Too shallow are they, in time they will grow.”
“My roots it cannot be,” the youth quickly denies.
“My trunk is not thick, and no branches have I.
Once these I possess, I shall by your side,
and with great strength of limb, hold up the sky!”
“Not so,” the aged sighed.
“For many have died
with great trunks and long branches and plenty beside.
Tis roots that you need,
same as all of the trees
that fill fine forests, canopied such as these.”
“And what of age?” the youth asked.
“Does not time decay and take the young last?”
“In seasons of sun
what you say is what comes.”
“Why then has the storm
not bent your straight form
though you’re old and time’s toll should have rendered you worn?
“Tis time, you see, that brings strength such that these
long branches can bear without threat of a tear.”
“And what if I die
before time can provide
the strength I require the harsh winds to survive?”
“A travesty,” replied the old tree.
“Yet count thyself spared
from the dangers and snares
that time has dealt me, and now thicken my air.
Now take and repair
the damage you bear,
for strength will sooner grow if you learn from this scare.”
“To sit and to wait
is to surrender my fate,”
the youth said in confident haste.
“No roots will I grow
instead I shall show
that true strength is stemmed from how far my limbs go!”
The old tree sighed
and just about cried.
For he’d once been young
and many things done
that the youth at this point had only just begun.
“Your fate is your own
though I wish you would grow
to be healthy and strong, that many days you would know.
Carry on as you must
if you will not yet trust
the words of a tree who has gathered much dust.”
So the young tree grew
and spawned branches new
each long, sturdy, and true;
yet he had not grown roots.
Sun fled, and storm came.
Birds hushed, and fell rain
signaled the arrival of the four winds of pain.
The youth stretched his broad branches
To defy the advances
Of the howling storm and its lightning flash dances.
Yet try as he could
he no longer stood
when the storm had cleared and left the calm wood.
His shallow roots were upturned,
for his heavy branches had earned
his place in the dirt where he was cut and then burned.
Yet the old tree stood tall
although he knew he would fall
when time chose to take him, same as it does all.
This is a piece of the collection titled "A Walk in the Woods", to see others included simply click: #awalkinthewoods
Comentários