On the side of this mountain, lies a sapling in struggle,
Attempting to grow, amongst all the rubble,
Rooting to the floor with usual manner,
Such a small little seedling with potential to enamor.
A season comes and goes, through its natural courses,
The tree vulnerable to all natural forces,
The contour, yet rough, and a little bit withered,
She refuses to let go, never even considered.
A rushing storm, brings inescapable distress,
this delicate sapling awakes from her rest,
her roots begin to dislodge, her branches quiver,
her leaves relent to the wind, with every coming shiver.
As she falls to the ground, the battle is lost,
The storm passes through, with no thought to the cost,
The months have gone on while she dissolves in the ground,
Accepting her fate, seeming somewhat profound.
Though her story was closed she submerged deeper yet,
Enriching the soil, and composing the set,
the next little seedling, to thrive in that same humble plot
,
That she gave up so sadly, to the next little seedling
hoping all is for not.
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