In Remains of the Day,

A life can be lived out in servanthood,

But not unhappiness.

For the real servant works with a happy heart.

And will rest peacefully at sunset.

Made of twigs and reeds, knitted with ancient care,

The entrance places itself precisely where there is no need for one.

In the middle of a forest clearing,

It seems to serve no purpose at all.

Making its presence all the more alluring.

Preparing once more for the winter,

It appears I am alone, yet the community of trees is nearby,

Sometimes envying my role in the middle of the field,

Exposed to the elements,

Yet providing shade and comfort for the cattle in the summer.

For me, a simple tree, it is not for me to question.

I am planted here to stay for a while.