Read more from the Being Truly Human July 1991 Newsletter
By Patricia Chown
On a dull November Day As I went down the lane, Noting the sad denuded trees Their last dry shabby leaves Strewn beneath my feet, The slim branch of a sycamore Leaned out to touch my cheek.
And then I wondering saw Small nodules lay along the branch All glossy chestnut brown. And nestling within their shelter slept The leaves of next year’s Spring.
As I gazed the knowledge came That though I shared with them The slow dying of the year, I too sheltered in my heart The joyful promise of another Spring, A bright Spring still to come.
A Spring to outshine other Springs. This I knew and this I know!
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