It had not found its place in the world:
The sun's hot rays had burned its trusting limbs,
Leaves browned and curling
Too soon for autumn temperance
While the moon's soft light
Had not been enough to sustain it.
Someone came and lit a fire in its heart
Watched it burn to blackened shell,
Breathed in what remained - all remains -
Brought new life to old with fresh lungs
To grow green buds, a calmer, shady spot
With light but no dramatic flares
For delicate shoots to mature in.
Slowly the tree ripened, not into former glory
But became something new, perhaps
More solid than before despite its scars,
Its roots deeper, trunk wider and wiser,
Unafraid to open to this new adventure
Its youth and beauty somehow more apparent
In the fullness of its age.