The unchanging days pass namelessly
From my perch, adorned in rosy garb
Unsuspecting, I note a lofting tree,
Rooted in the yard.
I don’t know whether it is oak or pine,
Nor whether it stands small or great,
If it’s offered shade for a century,
Or held climbing children by its weight.
The striking chord of my friend tree,
Is not the former or the latter,
But the fact that she stands outside the window;
For her roots are all that matter.
Some have roots to another person,
Some have them within four walls,
Some might move them periodically,
I thought I had no roots at all.
For I haven’t any person,
I haven’t any home,
I haven’t any… Anything,
To call my very own.
I looked at my tree and chided her,
How dare you mock me so?
You tantalize me with your roots,
Right outside my window.
My tree, she answered, timidly,
Oh, friend, I never meant you harm,
I only meant to give you cause,
To pause and make your heart grow warm,
For when I look at you, I wonder,
What it must be like,
To have roots in a Person,
One made of Love and Light!
One Who will never leave you,
Nor of your musings tire ever,
One Who is always with you,
In Whom you might find rest, wherever.
I found myself quite lost for words,
Apologetically, I said,
My tree– I had no idea,
And this is what she plead:
I bid you, when you look at me,
That you promise to recall,
Your sweet Savior, ever there,
The deepest Root of all.