It Was a Tree

It’s hard to see, but it’s a stump,
That disintegrating lump.
But long ago it was a tree,
Standing there majestically.
So tall it seemed to never stop.
Too high to really see the top.
Now it sits and decomposes,
Sprouting plants like wild roses.
It’s taken back by nature now.
Recycled as only she knows how.
But it was a tree that used to grow,
Cut down by loggers long ago.

We Are Like Trees We Are

The crown, the glory,
Bursting leaves,
Majestic tops
On full grown trees,
But then the part
That no one sees,
Deep and strong
The roots below
So it can grow,
For when storms blow,
Larger than the crown,
Though not on show,
But without a fuss,
History and strength;
T’was ever thus,
Remain hidden,
As it is with us.

Autumn Introspection

Autumn Path










A few leaves still remain,
Stubbornly refusing to fall.
Though most of their kin
Have already formed
A pretty orange carpet
On the forest floor.

The old leaves have to go
Eventually, or else
They’ll die clinging,
Shriveled and brown
To the branch of the tree.

The tree knows all about
Letting go.
It knows that life
Cannot be renewed unless
One first removes the old,
And the dead.

Such is the life of a tree.
Such is life.