Another treat in poetry
from my great grandmother:
For elm trees grow like earnest men
who in their youth
grow narrowly, tall with desire
for skies of truth.
Grown older, they reach out broad arms
well-leaved with sympathy
to throw a gracious, grateful shade
of heart-deep charity.
Then, after years of sun and rain,
Unconscious of their majesty
the old trees wear the coronal
of grace -- humility.