Mother

She was a parent-tree,
And I was but a sprout.
I was an inward part of her,
There was no doubt.

I found my nourishment,
From the sap-blood that I drew.
It was from her strong trunk,
Where once I grew.

She sheltered me always from the storm,
And spread her leaves above.
There was a strong attachment,
In the bonds of love.

She told me of the seasons,
And counseling was her part.
She pointed out the fateful-doom,
Of worm-wood in the heart.

She opened up my eyes to see,
The grandeur of the heights.
How choice timber could be found,
Away from rot and parasites.

She looked at me so tall and straight,
In one way or another.
She never called me...Knot Head,
This parent-tree...my mother.

And even though the years have flown,
My mind in wisdom sees.
How she and nature...hand in hand,
Spoke the language of the trees.

E.P. 1908 - 1989

Nicole Turner Miller - a beautiful, strong, wise Parent-Tree.