The Maple

When walking in the forests green

To valley wakening--kissed by spring--

I saw a tall, inviting maple:

One branch held a child's swing.

 

The swing blew gently in the wind

As silver leaves untouched by care

Laughed with a joy that circumstance

Could not erase through cold nor wear.

 

The roots went deeply in the ground

With steadiness grown by the years

That learned through Heaven how to stand

And how to lay down pains and fears.

 

In spring as new life rings the dawning

End of winter's bitter cold,

Bright, budding flowers laced with red

Burst forth in glory manifold.

 

And in the summer's lengthened days,

It dances in the breezes soft
And sings beside the willows there;

Its graceful branches held aloft.

 

There in the fall to dawn with golden

Hues of change, yet pressing on,

The silver maple sings of life determined

Hope that's never gone.

 

And in the winter, as it sleeps, it roots grow

Only deeper still;

Its branches reaching up toward Heaven;

Its song declaring, "Have Your will."

There, in the spring, as long I stood

And gazed upon the maple, sweet,

I lay beneath its branches and I smiled

At the joyous beat

 

Of rhythm as its branches swayed;

The swing rejoicing as it played.
"Peace ever triumphs," came the song;

There in the maple, Heaven displayed.