A love letter to my Parents

They fold,
Wither and drop dead;
Having lost colour;
Leaves fall,
And it’s the end of summer.

But trees stand,
Firm and sturdy.
North winds and storms;
Scorching heat,
While on barren lands,
And yet they are given,
A chance to stand.

Buried and away from plain sight,
Stretching past obstacles
Into underground trenches,
To find solitary streams of water;
Or to bury their foundations deep enough,
To hold what stands above,
Upright and strong.
These are roots.

Count them even when,
You bear fruit.

Picture by Jeremy Bishop (Unsplash)

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