By David De Jong

Been workin’ out in the grove most of the day,
Things runnin’ through my mind, no particular way.

I was pickin’ up wood, debris, dead trees an’ such,
When it dawns on me; folks is like these trees purty much.

There be tall ones and short ones, to say the least,
There be gnarly ones, lookin’ fierce as a beast.

Some appear as grand, with height stretchin’ so high to heaven overhead,
But on closer look, they’re just standin’, not livin’ at all, totally dead.

You’ll see big round ones, that seem to get more than their share,
Shadin’ out the scrawny, so thin to see em, you have to stare.

Some carry roots deep, holdin’ strong, able to weather the storm,
Others so weak and shallow, a light breeze gives em new form.

The steadfast look confident, even showin’ their age,
The saplings bend and fall easy, like turnin’ a page.

Tall pine half-full of life, green on one side, brown an’ dead on the other,
Clingin’, strugglin’ to survive, facin’ storms and all life’s weather.

Some is bloomin’ with flowers an’ the scent of sweet perfume,
Others are dry an’ flakey, when you touch em, they poof in a plume.

The broken are held up by a neighbor, leanin’ a might, but not lettin’ em fall.
The lonely just lie on the ground, wastin’ away, untouched, unnoticed by all.

Then there are the needy ones, wrapped up in themselves, stranglin’ what life they got,
Sadly, they push an’ shove everyone else away, hoardin’ it all, not sharin’ a spot.

Even the plum bushes; attractive with blossoms, an’ leaves velvety thick,
Deceiving everyone of their thorns; long, deadly, an’ ready to stick.

Little peculiar how these similarities to people stand out in the trees,
Only; we as humans can repent, ask God’s forgiveness down on our knees.

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