Much like the sapling oak, so has love grown,
More mighty with the march of menaced time,
And from those branches, other acorns sown
As living tributes to that arbre sublime.
With limbs upraised unto grand heaven, blessed
By golden rays of that celestial light,
Nourished by dear Earthen mother’s breast
And sky borne tears of joy or sadness quite.
But when I see such glory fallen down,
Now dry of sap, compounding into clay,
Wherein this vestige is sweet love now found
Or does that verdant light but fade away?
My gaze now rests on seedlings that portend;
True love yet lives and shall but rise again.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.