Wooden Idol by Matthew T.-S.

The watchful providers stand humble

Hardly aware to the eons that pass

Every day a beat of the heart

Every breath is that of seasons change

Branches take root in the sky

Arms stretched wide to embrace

All are welcome in this shade

They provide it so willingly

The fruit of this labor will sustain you

This flesh a medicine to sooth your ails

Tender them gently

Impose on them sparingly

And never take them for granted


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