The Tree
by Pamela Langhart
I happened upon it when I was just three.
So tall and majestic was that beautiful old tree.
How long had it been there?
No one seemed to know.
How bold
how priceless
how enchanting was He?
That is what I named that beautiful old tree.
He stole my breath every time.
He always captured my heart,
It could be difficult
just to put into words
How awesome He stood apart.
He was magnificent!
So full of joyous character,
Green and lush and so tall was He
that I walked often to that
beautiful old tree.
Bountiful and alive
He whispered in the night.
That eerie hoot owl would perch there
after each flight.
I climbed him and sat
upon his branches so thick.
Stoic and strong
I let Him embrace me
when the world got too sick.
I daydreamed,
wrote poems,
contemplating this life,
thought endless thoughts,
while gleaning good
from the strife!
The older I became I knew
how important was He,
that the earth's lifeblood
was the air that we breathe.
From his brothers, ships had been made
to sail the treacherous seas.
Homes and businesses,
Parchment to learn by
and books to be read
were taken from these life-giving trees.
One day I found My Lord
in The Word,
under that old tree.
Then it began to dawn and I
Knew by all that was Holy,
Jesus had died to set us free.
Ah God! The pain!
The sin that He took.
I wept at the thought,
Jesus the Savior had saved
and so we were bought.
Yes! We were bought by the Lamb
on a tree!
Trees held so much more meaning then,
much more than I could know.
Under them animals scampered,
in them kites hung for days,
weddings took place,
funerals, women picnicking,
even children's plays.
For some, shelter from the rain.
Proposals, loves lost, hearts broken,
and an odd determination
that thrives beyond pain.
I met my love beneath that beautiful old tree
and brought my children there.
They romped and skipped while
laughing, even willing to share.
They sled from the hill that held He,
I grimaced as winter stripped Him bare
but cherished the spring
bringing flowers,
renewal and fresh air.
The black clouds gathered
and the torrents came,
the winds shrieking and howling all day.
I watched Katrina and
Gustav as they bent Him
Or was He just bowing to
someone much greater than they?
Through the ravages of time and
great walls of water,
through years of war,
lost limbs & numbness of mind,
young blood spilled by men
answering their call.
That beautiful old tree stayed and watched.
Watched and saw it all!
I grew older and so did that tree.
Much, much older than me!
How old was that beautiful old tree?
No one seemed to know
and it didn't matter to He.
One day I sat there reading again.
Smiling as my grand babies ran,
Knowing that I had been blessed,
with all that had been given to me,
I closed my eyes for the very last time,
Underneath that beautiful old tree...
Pamela Langhart makes her home in Baton Rouge, LA. Writing since the age of 11, she also enjoys a career in Internet Marketing.
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