Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Crooked tree

I consider what it means to return to my roots. As I leave one place, I invest more fully in another.  

Outside my office window
There stands a crooked tree,
A pine of some sort.
It holds its needles
Through the winter.
On different days
This tree
Tells me different things.
Yesterday the homeless man
I have come to think of
As Jesus
Sat on the bench
Underneath my crooked tree.
He drew
What he saw.
I did not know he was around
This year.
I guess Jesus
Never leaves.
Today the bench is empty.
My crooked tree reminds me
Of roots
I all too often

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