An oak tree reaches skyward through the mist
And seeks the sun's bright blessing on its brow.
A child that's seeking softly to be kissed,
A parent's love beseeching with each bough.
With gentle moisture, heaven will wash its limbs,
And lovingly will quench its longing thirst,
While cooling rootbound anger through the dim
And graying sky, which threatened once to burst;
Yet passing on, the grayness breaks away;
Now split by shining rivulets of blue,
Which widen toward a foaming sea of day
As sunlight sheds its warmth and light anew.
The tree and I stretch gratefully in place,
Accepting warmth and light with love and grace.

Hal Maples © 1991