Tender is the Tree of Life,
Her branches salaam to the wind.
In due time, she sheds leaves florid
As tears for the orphaned girl,
The impulsive bride,
Reluctant bridegroom,
Wanderer, wayfarer—
All those pelted by the world.
The Tree of Life awaits the time
Of tender buds, flowers and fruits,
For this is when she tempts us all to eat—
The penniless, prominent
Or piddling, infamous, godly,
Or gone from our minds, majestic
Or ministerial. She shelters
Birds of every color.
She seeks out the child, shunning the
Hot-headed father, the
Fractious brother; she courts
The stranger whose home is
The world. She opens herself
To him and shields him with
Leaves light and warm as goose down,
For the wayfarer spreads
Aboard the seeds of her
Compassion.
Orphan, stranger—
Each has stood a moment before
The Tree in full flame as the sacred
Smoke wafts up toward
Madness or heaven—beyond
The cloudbanks of memory
And desire to a reality
Beyond bearing—but that's
Another story.
