POEM: Decades

If I were a redwood, tall and sturdy,
surrounded by air and dust flitting through light shafts
piercing to the secret darkness at my base,
rising from the ancient earth of Northern California
I would stand sturdy against the winds
which tear and rip at my limbs and leaves.
If I were a white birch, slender and lithe,
bark slowly winding from my trunk,
limbs bending beneath heavy snow weight,
elegantly gracing the hills of Central Alaska,
I would endure, match the seasons turning, turning,
go dormant beneath this heavy winter,
find renewal in the greening of spring,
and beauty in the coming brilliant autumn.
If I were a maple, ponderous and weighty,
heavy limbs bearing the burden of climbing moss,
solidly tranquil in the sultry breezes of Louisiana,
I would take time passing as a gift
and grow wise from knowledge.
I would learn to sit quietly and understand.
I would come to accept the things I cannot change,
like time, and disease, and God, and anger.
I would not let my fear break me and bend me,
and I would not run across miles to escape
that which is me.
I would not seek answers in the minutes and seconds,
but look to find answers in years and decades.