A tree sways when the wind gusts around it,
It does not fall.
A tree accepts the seasons as they come,
seeking no control.
In these cold times, a tree sheds it's leaves
Never clinging to how beautiful it's former,
Visible self may have seemed to the world.
A tree doesn't care.
It knows what it is, what it is made of,
What it can do.
That it's process may not always be appealing,
But there is consistent beauty in it's process.
A tree does not rush itself to please the onlookers
And bystanders.
No, a tree stands firmly and patiently bears
Every storm until it's time comes.
When the sun shines on it's bare branches
And brings forth it's fresh, beautiful self,
Showing the world the external creation
Of it's internal process.
In it's leaves, a tree does not care that they
Call it beautiful.
It does not desire attention, it simply does
What it must to flourish.
It remains true to it's process,
And not how aesthetically pleasing it may become.
It focuses solely on being strong and growing in health.
A tree never fears shedding it's former self
Because it is aware of it's internal process and
Unconcerned with how it may appear to the world.
A tree knows it will always flourish again, in it's own time,
Every time.
A tree knows it is a tree and does not change to appear
As anything more or less.
We should be more like the trees.
