Dirge for an old Wound

Any root worth its salt
tries to stay alive in spite of
stony ground, drought or lack
of sun, the push for growth
wakes a need that takes what
nourishment it can with greedy mouth.
Notice how gnarled, twisted,
turned back on itself a root can be
and yet deliver the goods.
I’ve seen a tree cut by an ax,
marred by a fence, rubbed raw
by an animal, bleed while its roots
pumped up sap to break out leaves
in their usual glory so birds
could sing in its green house.
It still stood against the wind.
If too much attention to pain
neglects the morning of a new day,
better let the inner man bleed
than bind up an old wound when
there is work to be done.