Trees have a way
of teaching us the deepest things.
Seasonally, quietly, they demonstrate their truths.
Watch them endure,
bow down, give way, accept
when from the North ice-laden winds oppress.
And then release
what they with year-long love watched slowly grow,
when at the summer’s end green leaves turn sere.
The darkest times
these are, watching green hope’s fulfillment drift away
when all the best they strove for, they renounce.
But then, trees say,
Think of that rare delight when buds, in spring, define
On desiccated boughs their glory once again.
Written in 1968 by April O'Leary RSCJ (1922 - 2013)