The canopy of oak let fall
an acorn rain that covered all
but blocked the sun the saplings need
and formed a heavy wooded pall.
It seemed a sort of bloodless creed,
a hollow oath, a lifeless screed,
a vow of love that’s just a lie
that chokes off life with tangled weeds.
But where the weaker trees had died
a gleaming ray poured life from high
above the shroud of leafy green
and roused a lusty, joyful cry.
No other light that I have seen,
no other love that I have gleaned,
inspired in me an awe so keen
nor left me feeling healed and clean.