Roots

[couchgrouch]

RootsI was swinging in the tire, on our tall oak treewhen from our old front porch, Mama called to mecos lightning cracked the evening, high up overheadwe slipped through the trapdoor, in the floor of our shedlotsa Mama's poultry, was taken by the stormmy poor swinging tire, hung from our old bull's hornbut that stubborn oak tree, stood proud upon the plainsthat's when Mama told me, our tree remainedcos of roots, that grip the ground and thriveroots, fingers that feed the mouth of lifewithout them there's no leaves or fruitso when dreams and plans, bud on life's April branchremember your rootsthe day I left that farmyard, I looked back at my friendhoping like that oak tree, I'd grow in the windbut that farm pulled my bootheels, through asphalt and stoneev'ry highway and backroad, led me back homewild roses bid me welcome, from our dusty yardseeds sprout in any topsoil, no matter how hardmy spoon stood up that night, in Mama's hardy stewcos like me that spoon, somehow up and grewroots, that grip down low and thriveroots, fingers that feed the mouth of lifewithout them there's no leaves or fruitso when dreams and plans, bud on life's April branchremember your rootsbuckets don't draw up empty, though they drop a hundred feetour old well has long roots, though rain's the rarest seedI saw Mama fall down, full pale in each handmy tears dried with the water, on that thirsty sandI saw how the branches, of that oak kept stretching highand realized that Mama's, roots had reached the skyso I made an oak cross, hammered it down lowno storm or wind has moved it, as if crosses can growroots, that grip the ground and thriveroots, fingers that feed the mouth of lifewithout them there's no leaves or fruitso when dreams and plans, fade on life's autumn branchremember your roots(c)2005 Robert George