Wednesday, April 05, 2017

Weeping Wisteria


We meant this tree as a memorial.
It thrived at first, and greenly led each spring
Towards a summer lit with purple.
Now its limbs are dry, its crown is thinning.

A phoenix from ashes, defying life's debt,
The tree of hope is death's philosopher,
Promising the spirit's resurrection: yet,
In reality, resisting metaphor.
The ailing tree bears proof that, even though
The heart's investment longs to feed the roots,
Symbolic meaning cannot make them grow,
Nor renovate the fading of new shoots.

The thought brings tears that echo with old grief:
In truth the tree’s life too is only brief.

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