You were like the others on the tree.
You grew in green oblivion, and rode
The mild breezes almost mindlessly.
Frail veins and fraying edges never showed
This latent golden life. No cold fire
Tested your substance, and you never glowed.
But fall has made you something to admire.
This season’s bitter wind and bleary day
Have flung you down and hung your spirit higher.
You beam there through the lifeless leaves the way
I wish I braved the winter’s ministry.
And did you work for it, and dream, and pray?