When Great Trees Fall

 by Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,


rocks on distant hills shudder,


lions hunker down

in tall grasses,


and even elephants


lumber after safety.


When great trees fall

in forests,


small things recoil into silence,


their senses
 eroded beyond fear.


When great souls die,


the air around us becomes


light, rare, sterile.


We breathe, briefly.

Our eyes, briefly,


see with


a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,


examines,


gnaws on kind words


unsaid,

promised walks

never taken.


Great souls die and

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.


Our souls,

dependent upon their


nurture,

now shrink, wizened.


Our minds, formed


and informed by their

radiance,
fall away.

We are not so much maddened


as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
 of

dark, cold


caves.



And when great souls die,


after a period peace blooms,


slowly and always


irregularly. Spaces fill


with a kind of


soothing electric vibration.


Our senses, restored, never


to be the same, whisper to us.


They existed. They existed.


We can be. Be and be
 better.

For they existed.

― Maya Angelou  

***  Poem submitted by Linda Robertson.  If anyone would like to submit a poem or prayer for the Spiritual Renewal section, please contact lindakrobertson@shaw.ca