Broken Limb

A tree stood out,
With a broken limb.
Once it had been,
So tall and slim.

Except for the branch,
It was fit to be seen.
For it was most luscious,
And tender and green.

The wind paused a moment,
When it came to the tree.
For now empty space,
Was where the limb ought to be.

It swerved to the east,
And it came out on the west.
Its course had been changed,
It was filled with unrest.

Men are like trees,
When he is not whole.
The void of good-will,
Detracts from his soul.


E.P. 1908 - 1989


High atop a cinder cone at 'Craters of the Moon National Monument'.