Surrounded by a beauty,
Unnoticed and unappreciated—
It must be hundreds of years old. And if it could only talk. Maybe Indians camped beneath it. Or maybe a pioneer family picniced in the shade of my tree. Maybe even a cattle rustler was hanged from it. My tree has scars from abuse. It has wrinkles from age. It has broken limbs from the storms, but it has survived and is a wondrous thing of size and beauty.
Thank you, Father, for my tree. Truly said that “poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree.” And then remember all those other blessings that only God can give.
Bible Comments, 8, a publication by Joe Fitch originally intended for distribution among small congregations in Texas.
Used here by kind permission.
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