By Steve Herbert
A sapling rooted deep in fertile ground,
you grew with youthful vigour, proud and tall,
the green life coursing strong through veins, unbound
by whisp’ring doubt or fear of future fall.
Unbent by countless raging storms, full-grown,
with outspread arms you offered pleasing shade.
From life’s harsh blows, you sheltered those o’erthrown,
and ‘neath your branches strong, a haven made.
But every summer ends in autumn’s tears,
the crumpled leaf, the gnarled and twisted bark.
In vain you fought the passage of the years
that stole your sap and crushed life’s vital spark.
Poor hollowed trunk where once you stood sublime;
“Come, Woodsman, swing your axe. It’s time. It’s time”
This poem was generously shared with Go With Grace, as part of Dying Matters Week 2024. Thank you so much for sharing your beautiful words.
