Rooted; A Poem

by Hilary Horn

By Ana Lisa de Jong

I am at the root of all things,
under a ground in which lies
a myriad of tender growing things.

I am the root for which you need to delve.
Your journey both a growing up
and a lengthening out, into the soil
which holds the sustenance of your life.

I am the dark secret passages
where no light shines
and all progress is slow,
and made by feel.

Until the breakthrough,
and the seedling,
proof of all that’s formed in the dark,
emerges through to the light.

I am the bird at the tip of your living tree.
Singing for the gift of life
that brought the dark hidden things to the surface,
and then grew them to their heights.

Towers of green
sustained by their rooted links,
and burrowed depths,
which hold them anchored to the earth.

And I am the wind,
that moves through your branches.
Gentle breeze or wild maelstrom
to shake the ground, and root you even deeper in to me.

Yes I am the root of all things hidden.
Come search for me in the dark.
This passage to the light, to which you feel your way,
is the treasure hidden in a field.

And that crown that is your foliage
on which birds alight and rest,
is the evidence of things not yet seen
but which bring you life.

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