Joanna Hawkins (2nd place. Poetry. Spring 2012 Writing Contest)
Oh, Tree of Life—
old, quiet sage
whose roots grow deep and wide:
as I draw near,
there are whispers I hear
of a history you have guarded inside—
the cycles of birth and death,
and all that has changed
with each revolution of the Earth and Moon.
How many secrets have you kept
these many times round the Sun?
Who used to walk this forest?
Any ancestors of mine?
Whose feet passed through
these blades of grass,
underneath your shade so kind?
Whose tears have you caught,
whose laughs shared,
whose bodies have you cradled
above the ground and below?
How ephemeral the one who stands before you,
in the scheme of all you’ve seen.
What sacred ground you have created,
what magic it is that you grow,
sustaining life under these wild skies,
offering solace in your steady glow.
previous. next.
Advertisements
