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)

Please follow and like us:

Leave a Reply

error: Protected content
%d bloggers like this: