Like a Mighty Tree, A Blade of Grass
When hatred rears its forbidding head,
do not become weary, my son
like a flower without water
like a river without a path.
Rather stand up like a mighty tree,
whose trunk—strong and tall, towers the earth.
whose leaves blow freely in the wind
and soul births seeds that feed the soil
whose shade removes flames that smother the land,
and whose roots connect—deeply, quietly—
listening and giving to distant calls.
Until one day, it can't—no more
its humble remains then earth new life,
reaching upwards, grasping the light
of a rising day—despite.
So stand up, my son—like a blade of grass
trampled by a thousand footprints bounces back to carry the earth
scorched by fire returns, ever more determined, richer green
—though burdened or burnt to ash by flames.