-
- Twelve blown-down pines,
- canted downhill, pointing
- to the river's rush of rapids.
-
- As straight and strong
- as their green companions
- still piercing up to heaven.
-
- Majestic where they lay,
- I asked them why God's winds
- now chose to toss them so.
-
- "Tell your wondering
- that our fifty years of grace
- of fragmenting this place -
-
- is done. We give our space
- to seedlings brought in love
- by winds who brought us down.
-
- As you shall, too, one day
- when you have pointed up
- for three score years and ten -
-
- and left your children
- and you love
- as overcoming monuments.
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