It was a grand state tree
The masters and the rulers would come and invariably say
“See this sturdy trunk and these virile branches
This tree will last a thousand years.”
But in the dead of night
When men of stature slept secure
A thief entered.
He did not regard this tree as mighty;
He saw no worth in its planting.
So with an outsized chainsaw he massacred the leaves so tender
Stopping only when they were pieces scattered in the wind.
With a fearsome fury he sliced apart the branches so ruddy
Until they were disfigured beyond use as firewood.
It was a grand state tree
But torn asunder,
It withered;
It wept.
And the masters and the rulers, who came the next day,
They too withered;
They too wept.
Unseen by the living
In the womb of the old earth
The roots of the grand state tree remained untouched.
Deeper they grew, further they stretched
Until they found the thin wellspring of hope.
And beneath the withering, beneath the weeping,
They took refuge
And in silence found salve and were strengthened.
