For G.

A tree decides not to hate the ground.

"She could not have received you, my straying leaves,

Had you not let go of me first;

Not once,

But a thousand times.

You spread yourself over her as if she were precious,

But I think

She was just close by

And besides,

You had already fallen as far as you could go.

What good does it do me

To be so constant?

My arms are full of emptiness

All the same."

A tree decides not to hate the ground.

After all,

Spring, and fullness, will come again in time--

Still, each ring

Leaves her older

Though stronger,

And at night, in Winter,

She dreams of bending without a care,

Green again in a sweet breeze

Of June and the way things were.

_______