Beyond the leaning trees there is a place
To lay my head on strains of angel songs.
No gentle strumming there. Fiery throngs
await the victor’s prize, His blazing grace.

Beyond the leaning trees I reach to brace
Myself from fluttering wings of black swans
Rising to the sky in rapture. Their psalms,
Once promising plumed escape, now erased.

Beyond the leaning trees of war I do
Not strive for safety, just sanctuary to
Harbor my soul. My salvation, His breath
Of life. An offering of morning dew
To quench the burning sins I once knew.
Beyond the leaning trees
but never beyond His breadth.




Author’s Note:
“Trees” is this month’s theme at Every Day Poems. Thursday’s challenge was to use “Beyond the leaning trees” as the opener, repeating phrase, or ending. I chose all three and mixed it with sort of a sonnet.

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