(The only wisdom we can hope to acquire
Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.
- T.S. Eliot)

Uprooted
Like this beech tree;
Weary of the deceptive world
Of unceasing wind tearing its leaves,
Dry sun shamelessly burning its dreams
Of a fair new world just begun
And of Heavy flooding rains
Offering only deceit of deceit of hope;
Aimless is the time of birth and death -
And so am I.

And yet even when lying on the earth
seemingly mortally wounded,
A new bud secretly and silently grows
Humbly receiving a little piece from all -
And so am I.