A Respectable Tree
The tree of my ritual was old and tall,
though not a true giant;
the next one may be, but needn't.
It possessed consequence in its bough
and the places around it,
which may have been occupied
for one of any number of reasons.
It was a fine tree, and my ritual was,
I hoped, appropriately reverent.
Respectful, yet uneasily godless,
my incantations whispered
with the light and gravity of the shade.
Hopeful, yet sorrowfully faithless,
my supplications revolved patiently
and drifted irreversibly into the air,
seeped deep beyond the bark,
sank into the soil and the root.
Godless as I was, I would not pass up
a fancy of random thought;
if it was a fancy of still unknown truth,
it would need nurture,
dutifully I would nurture.
Only such a tree could be worthy
of such faithless supplication.
18th October 2018
Copyright © Lawrence Sharp | Year Posted 2018
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