Sonnet (Tree)

‘Tis not merely a man’s selfish desires
That compel him to break ground for loose soil;
When in the morn he wakes to light his fire—
The fuel he consumes each day spent in toil;
When he plants a tree, he envisions which
One of shade, its height, or stability?
Short of time, life itself to him will teach
Branches won’t hold him in adversity;
But then he sees blossoms, and later fruits
As he wipes sweat off his forehead come eve;
Some leaves to make himself a decent suit,
And wood to build a cozy place to sleep.

For what then is man’s trouble in sowing worth;
If not for love that nurtures his tree’s growth?

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete

This is the #potd poem of the day. Regularly visit the POTD page, as it gets updated regularly.
For other featured POTDs, click here.

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