A beech tree in winter, white
Intricacies unconcealed
Against sky blue and billowed
Clouds, carries in its emptiness
Ripeness: sap ready to rise
On signal, buds alert to burst
To leaf. And then after a season
Of summer a lean ring to remember
The lush fulfilled promises.
Empty again in wise poverty
That lets the reaching branches stretch
A millimetre more towards heaven,
The bole expand ever so slightly
And push roots into the firm
Foundation, lucky to be leafless:
Deciduous reminder to let it go.
(from Holy Luck: Selected Poems, © 2012 by Eugene H Peterson)
