Like the cedar leaning precariously
towards light,
roots pulled from what anchors it,
risks uprooting completely,
I too lean toward the elusive
goodness of truth.
Most trees, content to grow straight and tall
accept the space they’ve been given,
stunted from lack of light but
not yearning for anything.
But I and the cedar
see something more
that appears within reach
if we bend toward it,
let go of more,
be content with less
in the hope that what remains
will nourish and sustain
our awkward position
of hope.
©2015 Sharron R. McMillan
Thank you. 😉
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Love that poem💕
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