I led old Jethro's flock to a sheltered field—
Green against the wilderness beyond.
Tall shrubs gave welcome shade from which I watched
The hungry sheep crowd to crop lush grass.
Across the field a sudden surge of flame
Engulfed a leafy bush. Startled to see
The sudden fire, I ran for a closer view,
And marveled at the sight of vivid green
Shining unconsumed through crackling flames.
"All fires," I thought, "live by burning fuel
And die upon grey ashes of their feast.
But here a blaze blossoms on the branch
And green and orange blend in smokeless life."
The marvel thunders in my mind; I doff
My sandals, stand on holy ground.
The flame that burns because it burns—
Underived, unnourished, unexplained:
Pure timeless being, self–sustained—
Reveals essential treeness of the tree,
And wakes in me the likeness of itself.
My labor lies before me now: not mine
To do, but to obey as witness, tool.
I flame now—burning, not consumed.
