Driftwood

Life gave me these — The beauty that can only branch in trees Who are content, knowing the roots' securities — The strength to stand up straight and bear the wings Of a brave ship on her adventurings — The bitterness of being broken, being tossed And driven on the waters and the winds, and lost In desolation, mist and stinging foam, And being beaten back at last to home.

Now love has kindled me — Strange that my beauty of a dear, green tree Should vanish into smoke and memory. Strange that the strength, magnificently mine. Should fall before the flame without a sign. But oh most strange that bitterness should be Drawn up in color after color out of me.