The Life Of Death

In the heart of the grove, when the moon is high,

Where starlight glitters in the dew of sighs,

Lay a sleeping seed, with an ancient name,

Drinking the living air and the blessed rain,


Amidst the loam of seasons and soil,

Tender roots reaching, silent in toil,

Yearning toward the sun with hands of green,

A perfect creation, that remains unseen,


The depth of this woodland holds the key,

This questing life that will become a tree,

Is the hope of a future with a healing breath,

Given life by those who have given their death.


Dedicated To Kellie Elmore


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