Day: March 1, 2025

Crawling out of my cave,

I search for a stick or a stone.

But, alas, my hands are empty.

Maybe I can find a pool of water.

And there, just over a hill,

Lies a little lake.

I bend over to take a drink,

And I see my reflection.

How unsightly!

I must bathe at once,

So I am clean and lovely.

But then what will happen

To the drinking water?

I must think about this.

It concerns me.

It flows down

From the mountain peaks,

To fill this basin.

It flows naturally.

And what comes and goes

In infinity,

Lives up to the saying,

“What will be, will be.”

I’m growing old

Like an oak tree.

I spread my limbs

To reach out to others,

To reach for the sky,

To carry a bird or squirrel.

Yes, I’m growing old

But I have a purpose about me!

I have knots in my roots.

I have places where some

Have cut me, severing my body.

But oh, to live and breathe

For a century!

I love the earth.

I love soil and rain and grass.

I love bees and beetles.

Oh, to be free!

Dangling from my branch

Is a rope swing

And a child holds on happily,

While he twists and turns

Swaying back and forth.

Oh, to be friendly!

I am growing old

But today I’m in victory!