Red tips, flaming fingernails
at the edge of rough grey branches.
Waving, curling, pointing,
to defy winter’s grip.
A shout when the world is quiet.
Hope when the world is dull.
Life when all is dead.
Note: This poem is part of my Lenten discipline, in which I attempt to cultivate space and quiet in order to hear from God and respond with poetry. This particular tree inspired two poems; read the other one here.