The Oak
Silent sentinel you stand with arms out stretched
As if mindful of your Father's love.
Deep drifts of winter whiteness are His garments
Of innocence and April's promise is hidden within you.
I place my hand upon your bark to touch the meaning
Of the years. Seedling to sapling and acorn to oak
Generation upon generation bridged beneath your branches.
Springs of fullness and falls of sorrow. Each autumn
A blaze before the dying, each winter bleak branches
Sighing before the wind.
Yet, Spring's sweetness lives in the roots, unseen,
Unknow except by faith. It is the same with me.
Long the days of waiting and many the seasons
Of the soul.
When burdened I will remember your full leafed arms
Lifted to the Father and pray.
When my soul is brittle and dry with pain, I'll
Remember your autumn and seek the blaze of joy
And beauty within me.
And should sorrow come to dwell, I'll think of you in your
Linen wrappings of winter and remember Spring.
May you be a reminder of the life within me.
April's promise of Resurrection in the sepulcher stillness
Of my inner journey.
