by Brenda Louise Lewis

 A giant tree stood before me,
weathered and scarred,
with gracefully aging members.
Its' branches and leaves sway 
playfully in the wind,
seeming to laugh and dance,
and to effortlessly sing,
through the wind and rain of its' spring,
and the blistering of summers' heat,
and the shadow of a fading fall,
and of winters' clinging biting cold,
the tree seemed to laugh and dance and
effortlessly sing,
for its' Roots lay widely 
and deeply underground,
the distance of its' height,
the tree is grounded.

Comments: "My grandmother and 
my mother are trees."

Tree by Brenda Louise Lewis

© Copyright 2003. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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