A Tree in Winter

The soul of the tree stands out unveiled
When its body of leaves has blown away.
Sharp and clear on the winter sky
Its abiding form is etched today.
Next year it will draw, to itself again

Substance of leaves and dress of bloom,
Charm of color and swelling curves,
Murmur of music and rich perfume.

Dear tree, my soul is a pattern too--
A form divine in God’s own sky.
My countless bodies may come and go,
But their deathless archetype am I.

--Barbara A. McClung