Bare twigs on tiny saplings,
a sky like a cold grey blanket
left behind by a child long ago.
Somewhere within its silent core
each tree remembers the essence of its being,
the patterns of leaf and flower and seed.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly,
the little trees continue growing,
their innate structure unfolding as it should.
Nature knows the rightness of her creations.
One day, the trees will be tall and strong.
Children will run laughing through the grove,
each thriving in her own vibrant pattern
as branches arch overhead into eternity,
protecting, nurturing, affirming.
The trees will remember.
Labels: Katie McCarron