Leaves twist in the hot, dry wind,
Not rattling like seared dead grass,
But plump and green, frolicking
And celebrating roots
That have dug deep
And drink water in all seasons.

I learned that secret long ago
When, like a tumbleweed, I was
Almost lost.
But now roots have found a well,
And daily I know
His verdant touch.

mike frank
© 2006



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