The tree stood proudly, tall, erect,
bereft of flower or fruit or leaf;
Without a verdant veil bedecked,
Naked, bare without relief.
Then overnight, new life returned,
Blossoms sprung within the briar,
Orange buds like embers burned,
golden roses in woodfire.
The staunch belief, truth will prevail,
that time will conquer, time will heal;
that fervent faith will never fail,
however bleak the hard ordeal.
And every time I see this tree,
I cannot help but smile at me.
©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
love the flow, the rhythm and the message.