When all their leaves have fallen off, the trees
don’t get depressed or blame themselves for this,
and though they’re naked in the winter’s freeze,
they aren’t nostalgic, and they never miss
the ample leaves with which they once were clothed,
nor are they green with envy over them
that don’t lose leaves, and they have never loathed
the months without a leaf upon each stem.
But we have found our bareness hard to bear
and loathed ourselves and even living when
we’ve faced a barrenness that seemed unfair
and feared that we would never bloom again.
When we are bare, we feel our lives are duds,
but, like the trees, we should prepare our buds.


Mario A. Pita

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