Reflection
I ran across this poem by Douglas Malloch and thought it made so much sense to me. I feel the last sentence is SO true! Enjoy
The tree that never had to fight
for sun and sky and air and light
but stood out in the open plain
and always got it share of rain,
never became a forest king
but lived and died a scrubby thing.
Good timber does not grow with ease.
The stronger wind, the stronger trees.
