I lost a dear friend four years ago. He made no mistakes, and was as prepared for a long life as anyone I've ever met. He was a few months younger than I am.
If you care to tell about it, I'd like to know what mistake your friends made.
I'm afraid SI formatting is a bit too much for this poem I wrote for Don. It's supposed to resemble the shape of a tree.
The Season Before Spring
Said
a voice
the voice that speaks
to all at birth
“The Kingdom of Heaven
“shall open
“but all who enter must learn a secret.
“one mystery shall be to this child:
“How does a tree grow?”
And all
through his life he strived
to solve the enigma, the untold, the unrevealed.
He studied
each tree until he knew its shape
he studied them as the formed into a forest
he patterned his life after them
he wrote formulary
as a sacrament, and his work was read far and wide.
Every year in
the season just before spring
God asked, “How does a tree grow?” And every year he replied,
“I don’t know yet.”
Each year the trees laid down a broad band of exuberant spring growth
each year they forged the narrow band of strong summer growth.
After the trees,
he laid down a broad band of love and compassion
and the narrow band, the strength of his character, rose toward the sky.
In the season just before spring God always asked,
“How does a tree grow?”
And he always answered, though he knew more than almost anyone,
“I don’t know yet.”
The seasons passed one by one and as they passed the trees grew a little taller,
while he quietly followed, band on band, branch on branch, leaf on leaf.
God asked again at the appointed time,
“How does a tree grow?”
And he said,
“I don’t know yet
“I’m not ready yet
“but I’ll tell you this:
“A tree grows as
“a miracle.”
“…Come in, My son.
“Well done, well done.”
For my friend Don Demars,
Gone too soon. |
