A Tree

The body of Christ

is as a tree planted,

drawing sustenance

from His omnipotence,

life from above, below, beside.

Its roots lost to day’s light,

anonymous to those above,

anchored in time, from dust,

and to the dust returned.

The trunk- the tree’s legacy.

It has withstood time’s test.

Branches sway thither,

tossed by tumultuous wind,

each finger stretched,

facing Jerusalem,

Judea, Samaria.

Touching Rome, Canterbury, home,

reaching out to the ends of the earth.

Leaves and fruit fill boughs,

drooping to the ground

under the weight of bounty,

eager to feed people’s souls.

I am but a bud,

not fully blossomed.

I, too, could bear fruit,

or be blown away

by the storms of life.

Fed by those before,

clinging to my roots,

I take my place

and open up.

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