by Sarah Earlene Shere, ©2023
(Mar. 31, 2023) —
It all began so long ago when Holy breath first spoke them life,
Brilliant green of flutt’ring leaves that knew not death nor witnessed strife.
Then gentle fingers plucked the fruit and sent the limbs to quiver,
Sending ripples down the trunk and causing roots to wither.
Ages passed; they wept and moaned, those giants of the land,
Till one day their Maker tracked His footprints in the sand.
They gladly let their branches break by eager seekers’ hand,
And seemed to sway in time to chants, “Hosanna!” through’t the land.
Then a fallen one was raised, holding on display,
The One who shaped it with His voice and taught men how to pray.
From bud, to bloom, to life, again, the blossoms seemed to sing,
Upon that morning, of the third, when death had lost its sting.
The final tree is yet the first, given life so long ago,
It waits for us, by crystal stream, where tears no longer flow.
