adventures in dysthymia

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Forests, a poem

Forests

The fruit contains the seed.
From the seed grows the tree.
The tree bears the fruit.

I have planted
with the rising sun.
I have awaited the rain.

Hope is the seed.
Faith is the tree.
Love is the fruit.

I have tasted the day.
When evening wraps herself
in blue, come to me.

Tomorrow ripens.
Its seed will be scattered
across our empty hills.

I have blessed the night,
giving thanks for each
rising star.

We shall be forests,
tall and fruitful, dreaming
against the sky.

Stephen Brooke ©2015

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