Showers

Never doubt the wisdom
of the trees.
When it rains,
when the world weeps
only because it must,
we never see the tears
running down their
mysterious bodies.
With skin so rough
and full of history,
these creatures merely glisten
in the surrounding rhythms.

Like the faces of elders
who sit near smouldering memories,
the great nostalgic trees
smile
and absorb
and admire
and wait.
They accept the watery dance
with a proud stature,
and we stand beneath them
for hope,
for comfort.

We should all be so lucky
to find solace under such
loving branches,
to sleep in a soothing embrace
with these strong watchers,
and wait for the inevitable showers
to fall and pass away.