Hug a Tree

Faintly etched in dreary sky,

unnoticed midst a foggy chill,

there stands a tree in oaken skin — 

with branches, nearly bare.

Each season, since its life began,

the tree strives to enlighten man.

It seeks attention in the spring

when sun-warmed buds explode to green.

Then soon the tree grows leafy arms 

and reaches out to man.

But man, in haste, eyes on the ground,

is blind to nature all around.

The tree calls out but goes unheard.

Its voice, so faint, on silence floats — 

like leaves in fall, that burst to red

then gently drop like words.

Man hears not what the tree has said

because of storms inside his head.

As winter winds now numb the land

and silver sadness frosts the tree,

a gray sky wraps its tangled limbs 

in blankets, soft and white.

The man looks up (beyond the tree), 

and curses what he still can’t see.

The tree just wants to comfort man

and hold his burdens for a while — 

to breathe in man its inner peace 

and still his restless mind.

If only a man would look around,

In nature, healing can be found.