I revere you when I lay in your grove I am but in an infinity of comfort. Sealed in open space, It is in this grove I am found. I dance in the graduation of being. Being there, The expansion of reverence. A love affair in complete darkness Before the height of merchant eyes, Peeking over the horizon. This moment becoming more precious, more scarce. I revere you in the occasion that we are firmly planted in the ground. Just below the grove I am laid Just below the surface we are rooted. We are felt. Our survival depends on it. Without you I cannot begin to exist
Tulip in a Grove, alone in Spring, Like young girl's hearts, it's a fragile thing. Too bright for its dark abode: A brilliant corner on a lonely road. Petals, like shields, rise up as guards. For all that lives wants to part The Tulip from its Spring.
But look, there, in the greenish gloom, There are other colors in this furtive room. In twos or threes, they stand apart, Each guarding their own and another’s heart. Bright heads like maiden’s reticent mane. Each shines for the other’s gain. For Summer comes too soon.
Tulips began appearing in our old garden, nearly hidden between two old Yew trees, after my mother raked away years of dead leaves. How they shone in the gloom beneath the dark evergreens!
I long for myself and for those I love and for those I lead to be like the wild sequoias.
Let our reach be high and vertical. Let our roots be firm and intertwined. Let us be strategically planted in deep reservoirs. Let our bark be thick and resilient. Let our seeds be released and germinated when the fire comes.
Yes, let us be an enduring grove, outliving difficult seasons and enjoying the plentiful.