A tree
even   twisted by storms
            split by lightning or locusts
            dwarfed by lucky buddies
still surges upward toward sun
and downward for grounding
        sending sap where needed
        cleansing air for all the world
still shelters birds
and bugs of all sorts
heals its injuries
or invites owls into them
even a limb broken and fallen
gives and receives.

People, though, with brains and souls
can get so gnarled by hate
that they burst open
seething egos
and dynamite-laden
vices.

What solace is there
for grief
that is like a hollow
stump
with no hope
of sap?