The spruce was meant to wear winter’s snow
as surely as the rose was meant to wear the summer’s dew.
Look how its branches raise up to accept the fall,
how its needles so gently hold the fragile powder.
And look how its form is graced by the gift
that it so humbly receives.
It’s almost like watching the rise and response
of a prayer of praise, a breath of love
between the Yes and its creation.