St Anthony of Padua, 13 June

For you will not let your beloved know decay.
I used to walk past a prime beech strong and tall.
Now I found it down, dying as it lay.
It’s private roots, hidden for generations, exposed to view, wrenched from life’s maul.

For centuries she has stood shading this ancient footway.
Countless blackbirds have there rested.
No man, no time could wish her away.
Yet this one Summer storm and she is bested.

Our life compared to hers is so short.
Can we not then cherish life but accept death.
Do we vain pleasures court.
And not see life as fleeting breath.

But from my beech’s rotting bark new life will grow.
And from our own corruption the key will be found, a soul will grow.