Tall and staid the Tree stood alone in the valley of kismet.
Rain whipped the bark into timid helpless pulp.
Thunder pitilessly peeled the core.
And now it weeps those tears once more.
It was a Tree of happy roots.
The leaves; applaud of clapping mirth.
The branches; chorea-form swaying gaiety.
And trunk, the conductor of this blissful symphony.
But life did show a crawling worm,
that made a hollow of its birth.
Trusting the skies and moistened earth,
with loving heart it bore a fruit.
And with all its selfless silent shade,
It gave all to a wounded Bird.
The wounded Bird on fruit did grow.
Remaining seed it pecked with hope.
Blanketed by leaves from harrowing gales,
Nestled in branch of spreading care,
It healed in ways only roots did know;
and wings of Bird a birth did show.
The season clothed the Tree with blooms.
Compassions wave in valley flowed.
Pink, white and truthful blue,
the petals wore their finest robes.
Morning dew in blooms did hide,
And scented dew was heavens tear,
In acts of love that Angels had taught,
The bloom of Tree all sacrificed.
Sipping all the manna-dew,
the wounded Bird was given eyes!
Wings and eyes, now Bird was free!
And stepping on the farthest branch it flee,
While Tree did weep so quietly,
with no clouds to wipe its tears,
of aching tenderness.
One afternoon when day was asleep,
the lonely Tree in deep thoughts swayed,
with sudden jolts a searing pain ensued,
a crimson spot on primeval branch ripped.
Crimson spot was now a hurling ball,
and hurling ball a leaping flame,
Engulfing, grasping, devouring all,
the Tree was a screaming frightened waif.
Choking with the desire to save,
that solitary seed upon the ground,
it called out in maddening silent wails,
to the flock of birds that bathed nearby.
A lazy Bird with languid gaze,
eyed the gasping tree in plight,
then saw the seed that flames did lick.
The Tree saw hope alight and cried:
” Oh! Kind bird of winged grace,
I beseech you in earnest pleading ways,
I have not the gift of flight,
to reach the freedom you enjoy,
now my joy lives in your wings,
as I am fading fast,
save my seed, my only joy on earth,
and my blessings will be your eternal slave.”
Bird with slow and indifferent gait,
came near the little seed and chirped;
” How can I save your seed,
my wings may get singed,
And I will be pained.”
The Tree with increasing dread did say,
” My sweet Bird,
but seed lies very close to you and fire is not yet nigh,
just pick the seed with quick skill,
and then take urgent flight”.
“Let me see my seed breathe life,
so in freedom I to can fly.”
The lazy Bird just yawned and stepped aside,
and to its flock it flee.
As flames grew wilder and more untamed,
with each movement of the winds,
the Tree sighed.
Thin grey wisps,
Dark emaciated limbs of branch,
Mists of charcoal depths,
Leaves that now were sands,
Fallen Tree with shriveled bark,
Naked in its quest for life,
The Tree would weep no more,
As valley dead did mourn.
The seed in charred coat lay still,
under the crumbling leaf.
Curiosity or was it a hint of guilt?
The Bird approached the Tree.
It tumbled on a stone unseen,
or was it the little coffin of the seed?
And what did it see under its foot,
but just the tiny ghost of seed.
On the edge of black seed,
It saw the mark of beak,
A dent in time when life was sweet.
It wept silently.
For it was the seed from the fruit of care.
The fruit that it once did eat.