A Tree is Her Grounding

©12-05-12, Olan L. Smith

You are thunderous as a still breeze blows;

You bend with the wind swaying to the beat,

Billowing clouds pass o'er your head.

Whispers the wind, "Wait...wait, water flows,

Wrap the wind in the hollow, at your feet

And boast, 'I am the tree, spirit fed.'"