It was one of those mornings where the wind had no mercy on the Great Oak Tree. The huge bare branches creaked as the tree moaned in pain. The temperature was about 6 degrees, enough to weaken even the strongest oak.
But really the oak had no thought of himself, because he had a greater concern. As the poet walked by briskly, mumbling words from Rumi, or was it a prayer? The Great Oak Tree made even more moans and creaking sounds to catch his attention.
The poet stopped and listened. He heard very distinctly the wind speaking through the branches, “Please don’t forget the poor this year, especially the ones without a home.”
A tear fell from the poet’s eye, or was it just the cold? And he did go on his way, mumbling again words from Rumi, or was it from Tagore?
But he did not forget the poor, and kept thinking as he walked …… what he could give this year.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies