Repentance

The summer is warm
And the rosy cheeked apples,
Made ripe by the sun's gentle kiss,
Are plucked from their precarious perch,
On thin branches who strain with the load.
Fall comes and the used trees
drop
Their brown and dirty leaves and
Stand naked
In the brilliant orange harvest moon,
Making dancing black shadows
On crisp grass below.
They are mournful,
Sad and lonely in the darkness.
But winter comes and soon
Clean pure snow has covered the brittle grass.
It lands gently,
Silently on branches,
Covering the scars of harvest
With its soft blanket of white.
The tree sleeps then,
Prepares itself for another season.
It strengthens its heart
And pushes its roots deeper
Into the healing, nurturing soil.
After many, many cold, rough days,
The snow begins to melt away.
Slowly
It seeps into the rich, dark ground
And disappears.
The little tree stands taller now,
Fresh new leaves bud from its soul.
I am like the tree ~
And so thankful for new beginnings.