Branching Salvation

By
Branching Salvation


Not far from my doorway,

Growing, climbing, free,
Warmed-up by the morning sun,
The plum tree calls to me

The branches that have been cut off,
Are sharp against my soles,
But to reach the top is worth it,
The highest of my goals

My legs dangle from a branch,
I lean against the bark,
Brown with spots of tree moss,
Rough with little marks

In spring it blooms with blossoms,
Of the purest paper white,
The petals make a velvet snow,
As they catch the breeze in flight

In summer it is emerald green,
Though bears no purple loot,
But still it keeps a sweet ripe taste,
It does not need the fruit

In the fall the leaves begin to brown,
And from the branches part,
Winter makes its statue bare,
A masterpiece of art

The plum tree is a bank of safety,
When our boats of joy have sunk,
It keeps a world of peace and comfort,
Stored within its trunk





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