OLD TREE

Like an old tree,

I survived storm and drought,

the clipping and bending

and breaking

of my boughs.

I learned to stand steady

as winds of change

howled through my limbs;

thrust my roots down deep,

braced myself against

the slipping sands

under my feet.

Like an old tree,

I have endured,

weary of my labours,

branches drooping,

bark chipped and pocked,

the foreboding 

of an early frost

nipping at my toes.

I send messages

of encouragement

to young sprouts

popping up,

jostling me,

their growth encroaching

on my space,

as has been the grand design

through all of time.

They will carry my legacy,

my teachings, my dreams,

into tomorrow,

replacing my songs

with their own,

spreading their arms wide,

expanding in the sun,

all the while 

time

is bending me

slowly

into the earth.

An oldie from 2018 to be shared with earthweal's open link #47. Wow! Soon we will be one year old! And what a year it has been.   When I wrote this poem, the prompt was: what do I think of myself? I think: I am a tired old tree. I think: I have risen above my raising, yet been less than what I might have been. We do our best. It is all we can do. Today I walked a wild beach. The waves were breathtaking. I am bemused by the wonder of being back here - this place I missed every day of the seventeen years I was away. Gifts.