Heart of an Oak

The branches of my heart are laden with snow,

bending beneath the weight of emotion.

Though I bend, I am not broken, and won’t be

judged by the rings at my center.

I am not like the willow; branches running

downward like tears. But my arms reach

out like those of the great oak tree,

with shield and spear in my hand.

Each kerf made in my side

brings with it the reminder of my affliction.

In vain, it dares to make me falter; but never

once did my fortitude waver.

With the passing of the season,

branches unyielding to inherent tension,

Once denuded by ice, are once again

Filled with the colors of life