Father
Father, is it wistful, the thought, to be born a tree…
My pennant a bark of strength, beauty, and serenity!
To plant my feet beneath Thy sacred earthen ground
And guard thy torment without a sound.
With a message of brotherhood written on my leaves,
For all humanity, broadcast to the breeze
And the seeds of peace cast the sea
Sap wars of man; deliver true victory!
Then to depart this world from which I sprout
Begetting a dozen seedlings –hear them shout?
Their heritage of Father, their respect for Thee,
Through branches of wisdom as if to please;
Thy thoughts, Thy dreams, Thy future’s hope
That now lie dormant, buried in the slope
From which they sprung with vigor and pride,
Two Thousand Years before I died.
How wonderful it would truly be,
If You had ordained me an oaken tree?!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment