Survivors by Anne Bach A twisted and gnarled Sycamore By the creek With exposed roots twisting and grasping Around a pile of rocks The soil long since washed away - An old wound From years of enduring The beating pounding of winter floods. But oh! This tree thrives! Its branches spread wide in the sunshine The tips of its roots reach into the cool water In its exquisite beauty -- Accepting life’s gifts. I too, like the Sycamore Am gnarled inside by life’s blows. May I also be like that Sycamore -- Not diminished by life’s blows But made more beautiful in holding them -- With always my toes in the water And my face toward the sun. Center for Story and Symbol | Mythic  Resources Seminar Reading Lists |Site Map | Search folkstory.com Page Errors | Write to Jonathan Young Web Design by Design Passions