The Tree of Hope

Long ago, when the world was young,
my father gave me a seed.
He gave me a trowel and a tiny spade
and taught me to water and weed.

I made the seed an earthy bed
and covered it tenderly,
and sang of the wonders wrapped inside
that miraculous mystery.

And sometimes while it slept, I dreamt
of the greatness in that seed.
Perhaps it was a money tree
with riches enough for my need.

Or maybe it would bear a kind
of life-sustaining fruit.
I dreamt of its healing, pulpy flesh
when I spied the first green shoot.

That seed unknowingly bore my hopes
through many countless years.
I buried broken vows near it
and watered it with my tears.

No money grew on its branches.
No fruit did it yield.
And yet, my dreams seemed entwined
with that tree in the barren field.

Autumn winds stripped it bare.
Winter's bite brought freeze.
Cold, spring rains fell on it.
Summer breathed new leaves.

Then one night beneath the boughs,
I prayed for the reveille
and awoke to find a happy branch
with a marvelous swing in the tree!