The Cottonwood
At Grandfather’s farm, in back of the house
Stood a large, ancient cottonwood tree.
How it weathered the years and stood fast in storms
Was a wonder and marvel to me.
My grandfather said that the tree had strong roots
Sinking deep, holding fast to the ground,
For the earth never lost it though wind tore and tossed it
And lesser trees fell all around.
I remember that tree when storms threaten me
And I’m battered by dangers and doubts
For I’m kept by the love of my Father above
And my roots are both anchored and stout.
–Blanche Manos–
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