Like Trees
Somehow, it seems
even when I’m down and beat,
defeated and clowned, I keep
building my self up from the ground like trees
that sprout from seeds
to boughs that reach
ten thousand feet.
My crown of leaves
is all the way up in the clouds at least.
Fall I may, but what I found is peace,
resolve, and strength. And for my boundaries,
astoundingly—
though fear is surrounding me—
I wearily prowl and creep,
digging in my roots under mounds of peat,
and sipping nutrition from fountains deep.
So now you see
this tower of green
may wither to wintery brown and sleep
‘til given the signal by Brigid at Imbolc.
Then, little by little, I’m flowering.
Image: Oak Tree, Waterford, Éire, by Mael Brigde.
