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| Tree Talk | |
| By Kate | ||||||||||
| 11 February 2007 | ||||||||||
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Another seasonal poem from the four tall trees in my front yard. It makes more sense if you read Romans 8 where it talks about the natural world also longing for the day when it will be free from death and decay. We’re waiting too Reaching icy fingers to eternal gray sky Bearing winter’s white weight in empty arms Creating laughter in the face of winter’s bitter banter Finding cold promise in sky’s star silence Caught unawares by An unexpected crow’s crass cackle Some little boy’s scarf-muffled shout Quick glimpse of morning sun That window sill’s African violet We’re waiting too Slowly, silently it creeps in on it’s own schedule Warmly, brightly calling us to play Tenderly, tantalizingly awakening fall’s knowing Trapped unwittingly in Spring’s rise to hot, dry days of Summer’s steady decline to September’s orange, yellow, red remorse for Season’s suicide cycle We’re waiting too Beneath dark soil and deep roots Above blue skies and sun’s strength Within winter’s grasp or spring’s thaw Despite world-weary weather and time’s teeth Eagerly anticipating Victory’s shout, riotous revelation Release from life’s curse, death’s decay A new face, a new case, a new place Slavery’s slain groan, freedom’s first glory
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