Trees

If trees did not exist, we’d probably not either,

Or, if we did, we’d be different, not me and you;

Unaware not only of the bliss of shade, of fruit, of blossom,

But of goodness too. The tree gives fruit to those that stone it

Or cut its boughs in two. Never discriminates between Christian or Jew.

Shares with all alike. Without it the air would be different, our breaths too.

So would freshness be different, like furniture would, then.

It is not lifeless. Wants love but rarely punishes for indifference.

Has the strength of the Creator, can stand undeterred for years,

Overlooking, divinely, all that pettiness shadows forth.

Trees are closest to His heart, or He wouldn’t return

Repeatedly to the various genres He put them into.

The leaves are cut in thousands of shapes or like lace or decoratives

Cut into divinely planned intricacies in various shades of green,

Yellow, orange or any other hue chasing the shades of flowers

That show the souls of trees when they smile unless they be

Wailing as the weeping willow or contemplative as the cemetery yew.

Grow them.