Seasons
The seed of liberation has been sown,
no longer it's a seed,
for root, and trunk,
and branch,
and leaf, leave us presence and a tree.
In early years no fruit
did it bear from immaturity.
In seasons cold
and wind
and storm
an inner strength did build.
The season changed,
the springtime came,
the flowering buds did break.
In the summer sun,
for the master's son,
much fruit did this tree make.
P. J. Campise
