An Elegy to "The Tree of Life"
“For by the greatness and beauty of the creatures, proportionably the Maker of them is seen.”
Wisdom of Solomon 13:5
When trees grow on mountains with thick undergrowth, their roots are usually hidden. When they grow among rocks, are washed by springs, or are clinging to steep cliffs, the roots of old trees are exposed. They are like hermits, the Immortals of legends, whose purity shows in their appearance, lean and gnarled with age, bones and tendons protruding. Such trees are marvelous.
From '“The Book of Trees” in ‘The Way of Chinese Painting’
The pilgrims stand before your gnarled form
And disappointment fills each upturned face.
They thought to see a marvel, but, forlorn,
They find a sinking tree stands in the place.
For years, your great resilience was your fame.
You stood exposed and lived and did not fall,
But Nature is a heavy, heavy chain
And you are old and mortal after all.
Ourselves we wanted to see in your strength.
In your defiance, our defiance show
To Time and Fate and Chance and all the lengths
To which our damned mortality will go
To bring us down. There you stood, refusing
To surrender to gravity's strong pull.
Pressing like a blinded strong man, musing
Before he chooses when he wills to fall.
Is it any wonder pilgrims would be
Disappointed and a little sad
To find this picture of resiliency
Now falling to the ground? "It's just too bad,"
Says one, shaking her head. She turns away.
You're kin to us in ways we do not like.
Could this be more what you are meant to say?
That all that lives will one day exit life?
But every living thing declares that truth.
You are something more, if we can wait
And take the time to see, attend to you,
An arborous icon to contemplate.
Like an old ascetic settled there, high
Upon a stone pillar, gnarled, wild, and wise,
Standing in silence, between earth and sky
To show the strength of God to all men's eyes.
There you are, suspended between the sky
And the pale sand, not quite fallen yet.
Still weathering the wild storms, winds that fly
And waves that bite and gnaw what they can get.
Still you live, you grow, and you endure.
Your form is filled with images of life
Beyond this world that would our souls assure,
If we would look to see and see aright:
Life like green flames bursting from your crown
Where in your branches birds come rest and roost
And children play, and Death can't choke you down,
And living water pours forth from your roots.
There you stand, an old and gnarled spruce,
Just a tree uniquely placed, that's all.
And yet, I think that in you we have proof
That nothing made in Nature was for small
Designs or useless ends. All was made
With purpose, for uses mundane and great,
Like trees that give fruit and air and shade
And higher truths for men to contemplate.
You are not for our souls a mirrory,
To reflect man’s fearful face and poor, dim light;
You stand a sign and wonder in our fury
Of Life beyond this world of Grief and Time.
The pilgrims stand before your gnarled limbs
And wonder slowly fills each upturned face;
They thought to see a tree, and find you brim
With images that bring to mind His grace. 
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