Sonnet
Clings desp'rately to all the fruit it bears
They seldom fall far from the giant tree
Without the sense to try autonomy
Against this way of living one does dare
And tries to be the wheat among the tares
She knows the light of truth will set her free
And rolls uphill toward eternity
Her fruit shall be elsewhere in times to come
Yet she remains offspring of that old branch
Her roots still reach back to that old tree farm
Her branches soar in the millennium
Trying to start a goodness avalanche
Knowing her place does not cause any harm
Beth Siler
11/14/99
11/14/99
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