Little Tree, Little Tree, I wonder where you are
to thank you for the sweet pink fruit you did weave
from distant star.
Birds chirp and cheep above the school chapel, for Chips
no longer serves chops to the chaps.
Tiny wisps, the many teats on the grey cloud..
who nurses the trees as she passes out of form.
Every day at six heures we thank God for enkindling Cesar
Winter when God's unseen gift of breath becomes visible.
The horse has run her heart out for her 'owner''s bank
account.. and her reward? the slavery of a stall
A heavy storm... squirrels thankful.. for pine cones have landed..
near their laps
Six Heures is to Cesar Chavez, the UFW, and all the unions
and individuals who have helped with victories
Saiom Shriver's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (08 Gratitude by Saiom Shriver )
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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