The willow wandered, drifting on the stream.
A bough, torn from the trunk and tossed away;
By tempest cast at bridge and dam and beam.
Small wonder that it sought a place to stay.
A stretch of slowing water, green and still,
With rocks enough to grasp ’til roots could grow.
Clean air, clear light — of each enough to fill
All worldly need a willow tree could know.
In time, a track; and then, a gravel road;
The prints of feet too fast for trees to see;
An axe, too swift to feel. Young seeds, un-sowed.
Then flame and ash, to set the water free.
The trees, too bold to learn the land they took,
Had boldly, blindly, grown to choke the brook.
Apparently today is the 101st anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. I wanted to post something matching that, but the closest thing I had ready was this.
Of late this land by evil hand was scarred,
Turned grey with ash and tramped by booted foot.
The farmers' fields were yielded scant regard.
The trees were warped and blackened by the soot.
The taint has gone, but still we mourn its mark.
There yet remains what good cannot undo.
The house rebuilt by bloodied silt still dark,
The twisted oak — they'll never be as new.
In its due turn this land will learn to heal;
Though never as before, all will be well.
Our new-crowned king will changes bring for real.
Clean rain will fall on fields as once it fell.
But that's to come. For now, we face our fate,
Resign ourselves to bear rebuilding's weight.