Like A Tree
Does a tree ask, who is climbing
Or who will view its limbs
It just rises to the occasion
It does what life gives it bid
If each man had this thinking
What would our lives be
Something much different
Something we could love to see
Every leaf a loving gift
Each would be a part of it all
Each one doing his portion
Each one willing to fall
Then when spring returns
And the snow has cleared away
New leaves grow upon these limbs
The view is a fresh, bright display
Copyright 1995 Robert Luttrell
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