Of course there will be days
When, like the apples on my trees in this dry fall,
I don’t seem to be ripening,
Or even bearing fruit — and then I wonder
If I should have been a birch; perhaps a pine?
No, nothing evergreen, because I’m not:
These inevitable winters,
When I feel I’ve shed my leaves,
I’m bare and brown; exposed, and chilled
By the absence of a purpose or a calling
Til spring returns, and I’m young and green again,
And eager to produce: it’s just a cycle,
One we’ve seen before, but still —
When this cold dark rises in our souls
It’s hard to trust the sap will flow again…
No comments:
Post a Comment