trees

Voices rang out in a little church
While the trees stood silent outside.
Tall and bare in the frigid air,
Untouched by the divine.

And I the same, unmoved, in vain
Sat silently inside.
I looked out the window while the pastor prayed,
Deaf-eared and snowy-eyed.

Stiff as a pinecone on the ground,
Shielding seeds unsown-
Will you find and pick me up
Or leave me there to grow?

Will I become some solemn tree
In the frigid air, alone?
Or trivial, become
Some decoration for your home?

I looked out the window while the pastor prayed
Instead of closing my eyes,
And as voices rang out in the little church,
They never touched the trees.