Poetry is written
Ballads are sung
Masterpieces are painted
Praise rolls off the tongue
To trees and their majesty
To their long suffering and beauty
These witnesses of truth stand tall
Obeying their divine duty
What reader doesn’t know
Tolkien, Hesse and Rilke
Gibran, Emerson and Blake
All adored the humble tree
Perhaps, I should aspire to be
A genius for a season
If I knew trees intimately
Then like a genius I’d reason
Even Thoreau’s almost convinced me
That a tree was the utmost
Of all creatures in creation
They could stand and boast
Of confidence and strength
And being still in solitude
What tree doesn’t receive praise
For their silent magnitude
I like trees
They are my friends
I want to meet as many
As I possibly can
I enjoy their company
Of glory they resound
In their shadow, I work
In their shade, I lie down
Trees are outstanding
God’s lovely gift
When our souls are cast down
Our spirits they uplift
But as much as I thought
I should want to be a tree
I am learning rather quickly
This metaphor is not me
I am not one to look up to
Nor am I wise or grand
I am very weak and fragile
Most days I kneel not stand
I am way to ornery
I rage and conspire
To the world I’m invisible
Though I burn with desire
My passions are high and wide
So are my temptations and sins
Constantly I’m tempted and tried
To refuse the grace God sends
I have tried for years
To conform myself to a tree
Thinking I could force myself
Into being what I should want to be
I even wrote a poem
Desiring the divine to change me
Because trees really are magnificent
Just look at their pedigree
But what I want most
Is to saunter the hills
To be wild and free
Not merely stand still
I want to lie down in pastures
And wander through the mountains
To hide in creation’s bosom
And swim in its fountains
I also want to wreck things
To tear down strongholds
That hold my neighbors captive
Making their hope and love grow cold
Maybe I should be fire
To burn away our paltry sins
That entangle our fragile minds
With the webs we daily spin
But knowing my capacity
Of twisting and turning
I don’t know if I could stop the flame
If I really started burning
There is a 100% chance
That once I started to roar
I wouldn’t just burn chaff
To the sky, my flames would soar
Hell on earth
Is who I’d become
And in rage and fury
My own life would succumb
Perhaps, the want to be fire
Is something I should flee
I don’t think I’m capable
To handle the flames responsibly
As I pondered my predicament
I looked to nature to see
What might reflect me
And withstand my peculiarity
Like me, she’d have to be
Unpredictable
Stubborn
A contrarian
Simple and transparent
Mysterious
A fighter to the end
No man could contain her
Because no box she fits in
She must be unbreakable
But have the ability to bend
Her will to the Creator
Her life to her friends
Faithful she’d follow nature’s song
At her own pace and speed
Sometimes out of rhythm
Sometimes off beat
As I sit here and contemplate
The Truth like a dove descends
And whispers in my ear
“You, my child are the Wind
You are given to creation
To attend and amend
To spread seeds of truth
From beginning to end
Like the wind, you are gentle
Through weakness, you are strong
Although you were born to play
You were made to be part of the storm
But… to be the wind
Requires revelry
Wit and humor demands effort
Make sure you take fun seriously
So, as often as you can
Tease the trees
Blow up there boughs
And tickle their leaves
Encourage their merriment
Make them bend and sway
Even these sanctuaries
Need friends to play
Race the birds
Care for the bees
Tend to the butterflies
You are the winged trustee
Remember the flowers
They need you to dance
Run through the meadows
When you get a chance
The air depends on you
To push things away
Even clouds would not move
If the sky wasn’t your speedway
The kites need you to fly
Pinwheels need you to spin
Banners need you to wave
Windmills need your wind
Make time for the children
Who like to pretend
That they can fight you
And claim the win
But…Don’t overlook
Man’s wasteful inventions
That pull them out of nature
And demand their attention
Feel free to blow them down
Just to prove
That there are quiet things
They should still listen to.”
DeeAnn Dean 