This is the tree of life.
The green team always grows.
We cannot choose which way the brisk breeze blows.
We believe our branch is strongest, biggest and the best,
but there is no escape from the fixed attachment to the rest.
Rather than tearing tired leaves and ripping rickety roots,
perhaps we better ask ourselves why we yearn for such disputes.
While pushing to the top may bring us closer to the sun,
in this storm we’ve created, the oppressor will be outdone.
The lightning will soon strike and the top will wail and whine
as they stumble to the bottom and lose their fame and shine.
Think of the body of the Mother, so tender and so frail.
Protect your fellow brothers, guide them to prevail.
For incessant lack of mercy and endless spat and strife,
Will end in Nothing but a lack of the triumphant tree of life.