The Breathing Tree

April 13

The Breathing Tree

by Janice Negvesky

I think that
simply it may be,
My lungs are a living, breathing tree

They arabesque upon
And reach over and under
Into a binded trunk
Heaving life from its branches
Into my thriving earth,

And that ground which eats the fruit my lungs
A tampered bed, made of flesh and bone
Becomes the soil my breathing tree needs
And through my soul, this it does receive

For as long as you steward thy land,
It’s leaves will keep on
through a symphony of

A hymn will keep on ringing,
through to your hands
And that breathing tree,
proud and tall
Will be your fruit
If you will be its seed


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