A dead or dying tree
I’m sure just spoke to me
About a secret skill called “letting go.”
And further on my morning walk
A leaf fell down to have a talk
To tell me what I certainly should know.
In whispers soft as newborn’s hair,
The tree, the leaf, and I sat there
On this cold but sunny winter morn.
The only thing they wished to learn,
With tenderness at every turn,
Was why I looked so sadly, damned forlorn.
Oh dear tree and little leaf,
I’ve realised your life was brief,
And everything I’ve ever loved must die.
My mind can see the simple truth,
That time moves swiftly past my youth,
That’s why I look forlorn and loudly sigh.
“Please don’t despair, dear human friend,
All things that start must have an end.
The secret is to simply do your best.
Joy is found while you are living,
Found again in all your giving,
So walk on now, and put your mind at rest.”
