Glory

The volunteer pine in the abandoned field
struggles through the briers and sedge
and through the years with no competition
spreads its limbs as though it were an oak.
Its trunk trades height for girth
until one day in amazement we recognize its glory.

I've watched you traverse the mine field of lost love
stepping gingerly past your last nerve
holding tightly to the dearness of children
and their perception of the future
you've sacrificed yours in a bath of recrimination
only a few recognize the depth of your roots

And so you spread your limbs
and pollinate a legitimacy that blooms
as the inherent truth of love
there is no tangle nor thatch
that would stop the growth
of your selflessness

You've struggled through the tears and the blackness
but look at you now
arms outspread
encompassing a glory that you did not imagine
the fruit of your loins
as beautiful as yourself