Stirring on a bed of leaves
Wrapped in a blanket of dew
Cradled in arms of sunlight
Held in nature’s glad tidings
The morning trees ask a question
Voiced as a rustle of branches:
Shall we awaken for dawn’s light
Or hide ourselves in the grey mist?
So God walks through the forest
His knickers already knotted
And asks the trees to come clean
As icicles shine in his beard.
The trees have no choice but to say:
We’d rather skip off this new day
And let something else blossom green
While we sleep inside of our sheen.
The Almighty’s beard bristled red
And icicles smashed on his boots
Your bark’s no match for mine, He said
I can strike you down to your roots.
Instead I’ll plant a brand new tree
With fruit much more catchy than yours
A bite that will free man from me
While you stay stuck behind my doors.
And God did as He promised
The new fruit the envy of all
And fashioned woman for man
So someone would pluck the tree.
The morning trees watched in silence
As man and wife left to eat sand
Then shook before Cherubim’s sword
Branches falling as loosed embers.
Nothing left now but grey stumps
Dead things in a long lost prison
Wasteland guarded by an angel
Job and pension for a Cherub.
Maybe God’s had a change of heart
His icicles seem less severe
And the stumps are growing branches
A bit of green turned to the sun
Man may be returning quite soon
God’s Son has completed His work
If so, then the trees will bloom too
And this time awaken on cue.
