An Old Tree Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak
An Old Tree
Bare with gnarled fingers of ancient bark, covering it's body, trying to keep out the cold.
Unlike others dressed in holiday finery, it stands shivering.
The poorest of the poor to all who cannot see the joy and love of God inside it's being.
Bent upon destruction with idle words spent in gossip, it stands always alone - forever banned from the lives of others.
God's glory, as yet, untold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/16/2024 6:16:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
