Is the tree that's pruned
preoccupied with pain?
standing with its wound
in the wind and rain....
Shrouded in cool mist,
kissed by the dew,
chosen for a nest
by a bird or two
Enveloped with fragrance
of rainwashed air,
bloodroots and violets
clustered round it there
gently transfigured
as sap begins to flow
flowers, leaves,
choicest fruit...
How I'd like to know:
Is the tree that's pruned
preoccupied with pain?
by Ruth Bell Graham, © Copyright 1977,
from Sitting By My Laughing Fire.
No comments:
Post a Comment