How True
Byron Hoot

The white blossoms have turned green
and at least three shades of green are
seen from my door.  The robins have been
returned to reclaim the air and trees
and ground beneath their feet reminding
me of my claims to land and air –
between the two all that is is held.
“Consider the lilies of the fields,” I hear
and see beauty and think sustainability,
the implications intertwined.  I would
have the truth as Nature gives it:
the seen and the unseen working together;
I don’t think that too much to ask
of creatures a little lower than Angels,
of creatures made from earth and air.
The white blossoms have turned to green
leaves, the transformation no big deal.
“How true,” I whisper offering the prayer.