A tree stands apart, as do I, in a mountain bog, in a mountain fog, it is the first day of June, the mountains still singing a snowy tune, I hear the sounds of water flow beneath the snow, in it flows hope of renewal, of survival, of revival, it will quench a dry land’s thirst, from it life will burst, it’s nutrients will feed a new generation of seed, and though today I carry a sadness of knowing too many carry a never ending sorrow, standing here alone, leaning my back against an eroding stone, I dare to hope that in time, life can fertilize a better tomorrow