The Quiet Root
The glorious tree spreads its canopy, beneath the asure sky
as passing mortals bow, to what is painted on the eye
trunks that stretch their lumbered towers, from ground to unfurled crown
stand proud in Winters nakedness, or dressed in Summers gown
They stand in opposition, to the frailty of other things
entrenched in our perception and the ground from which they spring
massive strength and gentle beauty, a mutual harmony
portraying a composition from staunch autonomy
Its branches journey leisurely, wherever they will to go
leaves of aimless patterns decorate branches that they know
We give such a homage to the splendor that we see
and all the while, the unseen root, gives all to keep the tree
Some men come with glitter which decorates their lives
they occupy and fool and build production for our eyes
Some come in stoic silence, with quiet and deep reserve
Sometimes love is the unseen root, the eye does not observe.
