LEAN ON ME
By Belinda van Rensburg
When I was yet a tiny fir tree
Shallow-rooted, supple, thin;
Another young tree grew beside me
And I thought it rude of him.
I needed space; refused to share –
Why couldn’t he just go away?
About his needs I did not care,
But always wanted my own way.
Then one fateful day at dawn
As dew drops sparkled on my leaves,
I saw a doe and her young fawn
Approaching our copse of trees.
A hoof crushed me as they went by;
And I was broken; bent –
I offered up a silent cry
Believing that my life was spent.
“Don’t weep, brother; I am here –
Lean on me for I am strong”;
‘Twas the voice of one so near;
The one I used to treat so wrong.
Many years have come and gone,
And seasons good and ill;
Though we have both grown tall and strong
I lean against him still.
If you should come upon some trees
And notice one is bent,
Look closer and you might just see
It’s leaning on its friend.