DRUID IN THE WOOD
“the university profs think they know you, because they can name your
parts and even recite your genus and phylum…”
The old druid, wizened and
mysterious, walked into the forest and gazed in awe at the massive tree.
“the sawyers think they know you, because they can calculate board
feet, and take you with such ease…”
“the mills think they know you, because they can make such profit with
your parts that they scavenge…”
“and, the carpenters think they know you, because they can see
furniture and even quaint homes from your lumber.”
“but, I alone really know you, I come to worship your ancient place in
this sphere…”
Then the old druid quaked in his
shoes, as he heard the voice of the one he adored.
“you think that you know me, but let me tell you the truth.
Open your heart, and open your eyes.
Lift up your hands as my limbs do I!
One from eternity, who spoke me to be,
Once, long ago, hung on one of us, a mere tree.
For, such as you, blind as you are,
Have forgotten He who named every star.
They sing His praises, with voices unheard.
Now, what about you? Made-from-the-dirt!”
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